


Devas

by Billywick, selwyn



Series: A Shudder Before The Beautiful (Transformers Roleplay fiction) [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, mhm, this is a big series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quo fata ferunt: where the fates bear us to.</p><p>Fate takes a step in a different direction when Optimus intervenes on the Necrobot's planet. The uneasy peace is kept as Tarn, shattered but alive, is taken prisoner and Overlord escapes. Old faces emerge, bringing new and old problems, as destiny ushers them into a new future. <br/>Nothing will ever be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Music of this Awe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a behemoth of a roleplay which is loosely based on the happenings of MTMTE. As per usual for my uploaded roleplays, there is a lot of pov hopping. If that doesn't disrupt your enjoyment, I invite you to join our adventure. The parts will be posted in reading order and tagged by which pairing they address.

When the feed of the Lost Light’s last will and testament leaked across the galaxy, everyone had believed in the logical conclusion -- they were dead. Optimus, reluctantly, had believed the same. It was hard not to. Communications with them were gone, no one knew where they were, and their last status update was a grim farewell.

Something, however, was peculiar.

“Where are the others? There were more mecha in the crew than that. Why did only their wills air?”

Blaster shrugged helplessly. “Who knows? Maybe they all died. Maybe some of them got lost.”

He stopped short, as something sympathetic passed over him. “Optimus, I know you and Rodimus were close, but maybe it’s time to -- “

“We’re not starting the funeral,” Optimus told him. “Not yet.” Not until I see them.

Blaster sighed. “So The Mistress of Flame was right. You are leaving. With the way things are right now… is that the best plan?”

“Megatron was on the Lost Light. So was Rodimus, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus… how could I not leave? I won’t take long. I trust the people here to manage things until I get back. Perhaps the Mistress of Flame will be pleased that I’m finally telling people what to do,” Optimus turned down the opposite intersection in the hallway, leaving Blaster to his work.

The hangar was already buzzing with activity by the time Optimus got there. To his relief, the Mistress of Flame and Starscream were missing. Without them getting underfoot, it didn’t take long for Optimus’ ship to be kitted out and take off in the direction of the Lost Light’s last message.

Caminus grew small in the viewing port as the Peaceful Destiny sped through the stars, hot on the trail of where the Lost Light had gone. They were still too far away to try hailing, but Optimus tried anyway. It was the same message each time.

::Peaceful Destiny to the Lost Light. Peaceful Destiny to the Lost Light. This is Optimus Prime. If you can hear this, please respond. We are on our way. You have not been forgotten. Have hope.::

 

No answer would come from the ship, that was certain. Especially considering that those that might have responded to the former-returned-current-but-not-really Prime weren’t aboard the Lost Light anymore, but rather trapped on a planet slowly filling with a very large armed force of Decepticons.

It was his fault. There was no mistaking that. From Getaway to Brainstorm, there’d been plenty of his ‘own’ crew that would go above and beyond to dispose of Megatron. Traitor, coward, prisoner...whatever labels they applied to the former warlord bounced off as meaningless white-noise, right up until he’d been delivered into what would undoubtedly be Tarn’s eager clutches and the poor fools loyal to him were stranded on a world of death.

They shouldn’t be here. It was his fault. He lead them here and now he couldn’t save them. Every memory of feeling helpless and insignificant had surfaced and played out in his mind in the last couple of days and even though Megatron hated every moment of it, he couldn’t stop. Millions of years of war, battles, victories and defeats and he was back in the same place as the beginning. Helpless. At the mercy of others. Dooming those that believed in his cause, in him, to share his wretched fate.

At least it would be private. He would not die before all of Cybertron with the cruelty of Starscream preening in his final victory before his optics. No one would see his end but Tarn, who undoubtedly wouldn’t make it quick either. All Megatron had to do was to slip away, contact Tarn, meet him and barter for the fate of his crew. A simple plan. A dignified death.

“There’s another ship up there.”

“Decepticon?”

“No. Autobot. They’re hailing! It’s...”

Megatron lost track of the eager chatter, listening to the deep rumble of Optimus’ voice. Ah. Of course, somehow, galaxies away, Optimus knew. Well, he too would be a fitting witness to his death. And he might just be the distraction he needed.

“Yo! Optimus!” Rodimus hammered the buttons, trying to answer the transmission with no idea whether or not he was getting through.

“Do you read us? Planetside!”

 

Aboard the Peaceful Destiny

:: --anetside!::

There was a shocked silence on the bridge when the message, crackled but recognizable, broke through before everyone suddenly exploded into action.

“That’s a Decepticon ship, sir!”

“Can you identify it?” Optimus was on the command chair, reports scrolling across the holographic consoles in front of it. Around him, the bridge crew worked like a well-oiled machine.

“It looks like the… oh, Primus. It’s the Peaceful Tyranny, sir.”

People fell quiet at the news. More than a few EM fields shivered with a frisson of fear. Although the DJD’s mission statement didn’t include Autobots, they weren’t above the prolonged, wholesale slaughter of them either.

“Can you hail them?”

“They’re not responding.”

“Then they must be planet-side. Shaft, take us down. The Lost Light is still away, but we can’t leave whoever’s down there with the DJD.”

“But, sir -- “

“Take us down, Shaft.”

With a sigh, his helmsman turned to comply. More reports streamed in, along with desperate, staticky pleas for aid. The interference made it difficult to discern who it was, but that was no matter. In moments, the Peaceful Destiny made atmospheric entry and…

“Decepticons…” someone breathed. “So many…”

It was like the war come back to life again. Bristling, armed Decepticons swarmed towards a lone building that glowed with a soft blue shield. Optimus stared at the image for a moment, wondering. Then he clenched his fist, his mouth a flat line behind his battle-mask.

Not another war, not ever again. Not while I live.

“It’s time to break this party up,” Optimus said grimly, “We have aerial advantage, prime the guns for bombardment if necessary. Pulley, pull up the projector and make sure they can hear me. We want to minimize any casualties, so keep the guns on concussive.”

Raising his voice, Optimus addressed the horde below. “This is Optimus Prime. This is an immediate ceasefire order and a request to meet with the commanding officer. I repeat, stand down. There is no need for violence.”

 

The arrival of the Autobot ship garnered a reaction alright, but the mech who was leading this hunt was completely absent from receiving any messages. Mostly because he was making a ‘phonecall’ that could change the entire outcome of what was happening here, on the empty world of the Necrobot.

That didn’t mean though that no one would answer to Optimus Prime’s message. The Decepticons looked to their commander, or rather, to the mech who had brought them here on the grounds of a suspicious alliance. Deathsaurus ordered his troops to wait, to pull back from the building still protected by a shimmering shield. He had to handle this in a way that would not sacrifice his loyal soldiers to the guns of the ship above.

::This is commander Deathsaurus. Let’s discuss this ceasefire you’re proposing, shall we?::

Tarn be damned, he was not losing more lives in a madmech’s pursuit of a traitor. The DJD could throw their sparks away for Tarn’s vengeance, but Deathsaurus would not. 

::I am prepared to allow an extraction, with the exception of the traitor, Megatron.::

 

The traitor…!

Optimus took a while before replying as he schooled his expression. The mecha onboard still got to see his wide optics, but his voice transmitted none of his shock.

“No one is a traitor,” Optimus said, “The war is over. Please tell your troops to stand down, so that we may extract Megatron and anyone with him.”

Why isn’t he aboard the Lost Light?

Deathsaurus’ Autobot compiled dossier flew up onto his screen. MTO. Commander of a warworld. Competent, but left the Decepticons several centuries ago, over a falling out with Megatron about the treatment of soldiers.

Another great spark, made bitter by conflict.

“I have no quarrel with you, Commander Deathsaurus. There is no need for a conflict. We can resolve this peacefully. I will land the ship and meet with you in person, if you lay down your arms. We can discuss this before any lives are wasted.”

Megatron… what have you done?

 

Deathsaurus tapped his faceplate, contemplating his next move. Letting Optimus Prime end this conflict was sure to reflect poorly on him, nevermind the fact that Tarn would be a flurry of death and destruction if his prize was pried from his claws. Nothing would stop the DJD, even if Deathsaurus pulled all of his troops out to leave this folly be. That sounded like a sane course of action, but it might lose him respect. 

::If you land, your safety cannot be guaranteed. My troops may not open fire, but I can’t speak for the DJD. Commander Tarn has made it very clear that no one will leave here until Megatron has gotten the death he deserved. The death your foolish trial should have ended in.::

Where was Tarn? The damn mech needed to answer for all of this, for the lives already slain out in the fields of unremarkable blue flowers.

::I will only offer this to you once more; you may extract everyone but Megatron. Surely, the many outweigh the worth of one life. Be reasonable.::

 

Optimus resisted the urge to put his helm in his servos. DJD. They’d known the killers were somewhere near, but it was just fitting for Megatron’s most loyal to turn on him. The irony was thick enough to cut.

“We are not impartial judges,” he said. “We are not the law. Deciding Megatron’s death has always been something that was neither faction’s right. Not my right. Not your right. And, Commander Deathsaurus, it is certainly not Commander Tarn’s right.”

“All lives are worthy. Even his.”

Optimus nodded at Helico, who sent the order down the chain. In short order, the Peaceful Destiny’s guns were out, taking aim. A whine filled the air as they charged, ready to release a devastating bombardment that would stop this in its tracks.

With minimal casualties, of course. This was Optimus Prime’s ship.

“I’ll be going down, as well. Someone needs to see to Tarn, once and for all.” Surprised faces turned to him, but Optimus was already walking out of the bridge. His landing team scrambled to the ramps, concern all over their faces.

“So. Uh. The DJD.”

Optimus checked his gun. “Mhm.”

“Are we really -- “

“I’ll be handling Tarn,” Optimus said briskly. “The rest of you will go after the others. They’re not primary combatants, but they’re no pushovers. Remain on-guard, and ready.”

There was no time for any other question. The ramps opened, showing the distant ground. Optimus took a running leap, his transformation sequence kicking in, and plummeted to the planet’s surface.

 

Megatron wanted to grind his denta together hard enough for them to break. Of course Tarn would react like this. He had a flair for being dramatic, and entirely, irrationally invested in vengeance. Megatron had created this monster, and he was well aware that one of them wouldn’t walk away from this meeting. And considering he was the one sans fusion cannon or the strength and will to fight, it probably wouldn’t be him.

Still, he had surprises left in his rusty old helm, even if they were...unconventional. Such as him offering up his own person in order to save the crew. Offering himself as Tarn’s prisoner without even a fight, even if it went against every screaming base protocol that was protesting in him right now. 

The barrels of Tarn’s double fusion cannons levelled themselves to his helm and Megatron dimmed his optics, showing no fear even if this was to be his last couple of moments. 

Tarn launched into a speech, it couldn’t be described as anything else, recounting Megatron’s betrayal of the Cause, his weakness of will to pull through, his surrender in the face of adversity. It was the same, senseless fanaticism that he’d once prized in Tarn, that made him choose this particular mech to lead his squad of efficient executioners. The irony of all of this wasn’t lost on him.

Neither was the telltale whine of the cannons, ready to fire, to send him to the Allspark once and for all. Megatron offlined his optics.

But the blasts never came. Instead, a crunch of impact so harsh he felt the shockwave of it reverberate through his frame. 

 

Optimus felt the impact of the landing even through his armored underside. He transformed on top of Tarn, heedless of the pained groan below him, and straightened. Keeping one pede planted on the mech’s neck to stifle his deadly voice, Optimus trained his gun on Megatron on instinct.

There was a tense silence, interrupted only by Tarn’s sounds.

“Megatron,” Optimus finally said. “You...you…” A thousand words clamored for space on his glossa. Each demanded their turn, trying to jostle out of his lips first. There was just so much to say. The Lost Light. The DJD. Deathsaurus.

A hard sigh. “What did you do now?”

Only one was actually important.

 

There were things in life even Megatron couldn’t plan for, and Optimus Prime dropping out of the sky like some Primus-sent meteor was definitely one of them. The gun was of no concern, the accusation in his question certainly was. The former warlord rose back to his pedes, no longer needing to bow his helm or kneel in desperation and fear for those under his care. He sighed, looking down at Tarn, pinned under his archrival. It was almost comical. Almost.

“It’s not so much now as what I have done...millennia ago. It’s good to see you, Optimus. I didn’t think any distress calls got out.” 

He had to squash down the questions trickling through his processor. How had Optimus gotten here so fast? Why had he come personally? How he even found Megatron himself this quickly and what did this mean for the rest of the Lost Light crew? What now?

Nevermind every other feeling associated with the Prime’s personal appearance. Megatron had long since learned to squash the mixture of hatred, admiration and downright passion he had developed for the bulky warrior over the long course of their shared history. Last he saw of Prime, the mech had sat in judgement over him, stared at him disbelief, then allowed him to make full use of a legal loophole that helped him escape certain death. And some parts of Megatron firmly believed to have felt relief from Optimus Prime that he would not be witnessing Megatron’s execution back then.

“Your timing is exemplary.”

 

“I wish I could say the same,” Optimus said. He kept his gun on Megatron, the barrel not wavering. There were too many questions here, too many for Optimus to consider trusting Megatron.

“You still haven’t answered my question, either. What did you do? Why are there Decepticons calling for your helm? Where is the Lost Light and her crew?”

Some part of him wanted to squeeze the trigger. End it. Just do what everyone had been demanding from Optimus, from the very beginning. End it. End him. Finish it.

His grip slackened, and the gun lowered. No.

“I left Prowl and Starscream without supervision to make sure you hadn’t…”

Restarted the war? Taken over the Lost Light?

...died?

“You owe me answers.”

 

“Were you not able to piece together a theory of what happened, Optimus?” Megatron had to stop himself from launching this into another spite-laden argument. He was too easily intrigued by making Optimus react to him. It had been his vice for the entire duration of the war, this singular obsession with getting a rise out of his enemy in an intensely personal way. He wasn’t like that anymore. Well, he tried to remind and convince himself he was not, in fact, that warlord anymore.

Amends. Redemption. Right.

“I didn’t ask to be hunted down by the DJD. The evidence to that is...underfoot,” Megatron glanced down to Tarn, still struggling, unable to use that devastating talent of his.

“Though letting him speak might be the death of both us. The crew is...fine, for now. Damaged, but no casualties. Yet. I was...negotiating their release. Oh...and the ship’s been taken over by mutineers who felt my presence to be somewhat of an insult to the entirely new, peaceful Autobot cause. Imagine that.” Megatron allowed a thick layer of sarcasm to permeate his tone, knowing it would aggravate his would-be saviour. 

It was comedic, almost, the way Optimus seemed to dictate over his life and death time and time again.

 

“I’d prefer to hear it from you.”

Optimus was grateful for his mask, as it hid the brief twitch of his mouth. Puns. Surrounded, alone, and seemingly about to be executed, and Megatron still had the nerve to make light of the situation. The news about Autobot mutineers was concerning, however, and Optimus quickly sobered.

“Trouble has a peculiar habit of following you, it seems.”

He looked down at Tarn, seeing the hateful glare directed at the two of them. “I don’t have any stasis cuffs, unfortunately. My crew is handling the rest of the Decepticons but -- “

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Optimus cut himself off, looking up too see what the noise was. He only had time to spit half a curse, however, when a massive black fist to his chest sent him flying.

Overlord was here.

 

Any jovial notion of escaping certain death through skyborne Primes went flying along with Optimus as the looming frame of the Phase Sixer made an appearance. Megatron felt the energon drain out of his processor for a moment. Why...why did all this have to follow him around and turn what was already an arduous journey into a constant struggle against the impossible? 

He was pretty sure that Overlord had been floating in space somewhere, something he deftly had a hand in, but his appearance here felt like the sweet, hateful hand of fate which loved dealing him the worst it had to offer.

Great. Overlord was definitely not here for a little chat or to suddenly change allegiance. Overlord held no allegiance to anyone but himself, and the only reason he’d ever worked for Megatron was to suit his own purpose. And to defeat him, of course.

“Slag.” He sighed, resigned as he watched Tarn rise back up. One wasn’t bad enough, huh? Two towering Decepticons with more than enough reason to kill him. And him, weak, weaponless and tired. He glanced up at his statue, which stared out across the sea of sparkflowers with a serenity that Megatron could only envy. Would it disappear if he died? Would his sins wither away?

“Prime has nothing to do with this. It is me you both want.”

 

Ow. The world hurt, for about two seconds, and Optimus landed, leaving a long groove in the dirt. He rose slowly, and oh, wasn’t this just perfect. Overlord and Tarn. Lovely. Great.

Damn it, Megatron.

At least they weren’t looking at him. Optimus took the brief respite to shake off the flower petals in his plating and look around. There was nothing around, nothing to be used, nothing to be --

Is that a pink scooter?

“I need backup,” he hissed into his comms as he sprinted towards the scooter. Tarn and Overlord were distracting each other, too focused on the mech between them to pay any mind to Optimus. For once, it was good they were both such obsessive people. Then they began to fight.

Optimus crept over to Megatron, a servo over the shattered glass of his windshield. He transformed as discreetly as possible while Tarn kicked Overlord off him.

“Get on. Before they remember us.”

 

For once, Megatron did not have anything clever to retort. Optimus’ altmode was not exactly easy to climb nor was it necessarily comfortable, but this was their only chance at getting away. Tarn and Overlord were embroiled in a fight over who would kill Megatron and his own altmode was certainly not speedy, so the former warlord clung to Optimus’ with both servos and ducked behind his cabin.

Once they were speeding away from the scene, far enough to lose sight of the two massive Decepticons, he loosened his grip a little and sent a wordless transmission to Rodimus to open the door upon their arrival. For now though, he watched Optimus plow through sparkflowers with determination.

“This is definitely not something I pictured happening, in case you were wondering.”

 

“How do you think I feel?” Optimus grumbled back. They raced through the doors together, spraying flowers and glass everywhere as Optimus simply rolled into his transformation without trying to remove Megatron.

The warlord tumbled off his back as Optimus transformed, then lay on the ground, staring up. His chest still ached.

“Only you could get Overlord to join your execution,” he said, not even trying to be accusing. Only exasperated. “Who else? Are there any other murderous Decepticons out to air their grievances, or can we stop at the Phase Sixer?”

“Optimus!”

“Rodimus,” Optimus said. “Megatron. Mutiny. DJD. That about it?”

“Uh… imminent death?”

“Averted, for now. Someone patch Megatron up. There’s still things that need to be done.”

 

Megatron didn’t enjoy his tumble, but he had to hand it to Optimus that it had been some quick thinking and driving on his part. Not that being back here with the worried/scared/terrified crew was much better than trying to make a deal out there, but at least Optimus was in here with them now. He’d be able to give them hope and confidence that they just might make it through this.

“I’m fine,” he got to his pedes, brushing off dirt and ignoring the superficial wounds sustained by Tarn’s anger and the ensuing tussle between the fanatic killer and Overlord.

“Except that Optimus just wasted any chance for the rest of you to make it out of here.” In hindsight, he shouldn’t have climbed onto the Prime. He should have stayed put, barted with Overlord and Tarn and then let them tear him to pieces.

Rodimus looked distinctly relieved to see the Prime, but bristled at Megatron’s words.

 

“So you did go out there to pull a martyr stunt. Really, Megs? Are we not over that at this point?”

“It would have been better than dying in here all together.”

Rodimus rolled his optics so hard they nearly tore loose, gave up on getting anything but sullen, self-sacrificial slag out of Megatron and turned to Optimus.

“Please tell me you came with half a fleet and this is all over already?”

“I came with half of half a fleet and this is almost all over,” was the succinct reply.

Optimus rolled onto his front and a few more shards of glass tinkled out of his chest. He got to his pedes, looking around. He met optics filled with varying levels of fear, excitement, and determination. Finally, he looked back down.

“I went against nearly everyone when I chose to let you live,” he said. “I’m not going to let you die yet.” With that, he offered his servo to the warlord. Rodimus sucked in a breath from next to him, optics darting between the two.

“You’re not the kind of person to roll over and die. This is not where we end today.”

Optimus waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus as well as the entire crew waited to see what would happen. Even those who’d busied their servos were still now, optics trained on this singular interaction. Ratchet felt both pride and annoyance at Optimus’ purpose here; it was painfully obvious that the Prime made this his first priority. And whilethe medic didn’t doubt his friend’s will to save them all, he also knew that Megatron was always, always a personal matter to Optimus. The two of them were like magnets, and they dragged the universe into the Pit with them at every moment they met.

Megatron waited too. He wasn’t sure this was worth it. Whatever this gesture of cooperation was supposed to prove. His willingness to change? Was Optimus looking to confirm that Megatron did not, in fact, plan all of this with his Decepticon minions?

His servo landed in the Prime’s, grasping it tightly. A lifeline in this hopeless, dead-end situation. He left it there after the initial pressure, resting his palm against fading blue. 

“Fine. If only because you entrusted this crew to me and their deaths would be more than unacceptable.”

Their deaths. Not his. No, he probably had it coming. A prideful little voice in his processor spat its defiance at the notion.

 

There was a pause, where the universe seemed to hold its breath as everyone waited to see what Megatron would do. And, with the light clink of meeting metal, everything resumed once more. Optimus pulled Megatron up, steadying him with his other servo, and guided him to where Ratchet had constructed a makeshift clinic.

Laying out the mech on a slab, Optimus let his servo linger a moment, considering. So much had changed. So much would change, if he had his way. Could he have foreseen this even a hundred years back?

Probably not.

::- aptain! Captain!::

Optimus jerked when he realized his comm had been squawking while he stared into the middle distance. He turned away, leaving Megatron to Ratchet’s tender mercies, and spoke.

“Yes?”

::The Decepticon base has been neutralized. They’re down, with three dead. We had to pull out, sir. Tarn and Overlord came. They killed Crank.::

Optimus’ optics narrowed. Those two were like rabid hounds, snapping at everything in their path. They had to be put down, at some point. But…

But not today. There was neither the resources nor the mecha needed to handle individuals of their caliber, and Megatron’s condition was too delicate to try and get him to fight. “Reconnoiter at the building we saw,” he ordered, “Extract everyone there, leave the rest. We can’t afford a drawn out battle. It’s better we leave now, while we can.”

::Understood, sir.::

His comm clicked off.

Optimus stared down at it. “Ratchet, how is he?”

“Ask him yourself,” came the sour reply, “He’s still awake, unfortunately.”

 

“Fine.” Megatron didn’t wait for the question, grasping at the holes in his chassis. The Autobot sigil was missing, well, not missing, just removed from his chest and tightly clutched in his left servo. How many times had he lain in front of Optimus Prime with his insides exposed? Too many. Definitely. 

“They won’t stop.” He knew this planet, this place and time, was some sort of endgame scenario. He’d seen what the DJD had done to the crew of the Lost Light in another contingency. How they all had been slaughtered mercilessly. He couldn’t let that happen here. If he left aboard that ship, or any ship, Tarn would come hunt him down. He was so, so good at that, Megatron had made sure of that himself when he’d made the tankformer his most loyal follower. And Overlord? There were forces in the universe who could stop the destruction embodied in that cruel mech.

“They’ll hunt me down wherever I go.”

Dark carmine optics rested on Optimus alone, who once again seemed in charge of Megatron’s fate.

“Do you really want to take me with you?”

 

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. You don’t need to fight every battle alone, you know.”

It was saddening to remember how Megatron saw the world. For all his armies and followers, he seemed to perceive everything as a struggle that only he could face. The any sign of weakness meant abandonment. “They will hunt you. And when they recover from this, we’ll be ready.”

“Or we could let him die. Like we should have.”

Optimus looked up. Ratchet stood on Megatron’s other side, his servos broken down to medical tools he industriously repaired Megatron with. He was scowling, disapproving. “I understand fixing him. Hell, I understand the trial. But this… this isn’t our war, Optimus. The DJD and Overlord -- they’re the monsters Megatron himself created. Fighting them will cost good mecha their lives. And for what?”

He looked down at the grey mech under his servos scornfully. “For him?”

“For someone who deserves to live.” Optimus’ voice was firm. “I haven’t made a habit of abandoning people, Ratchet, and I will not start today. If I let this happen, what was the point of even ending the war? It continues, just under the mask of peace.”

“Would you have done this for anyone else? Or are you doing this because of who he is?”

“I don’t understand.” Oh, but he did. And his tone was full of warning.

“I’m not blind, or stupid. I’ve seen this war start and I’ve seen it end. This isn’t just about peace to you, Optimus. This is about Megatron. It’s always been about him.”

“Out.” 

It was curt, steeped in age-old frustration. It was a tone that brooked no arguments. Ratchet looked like he wanted to try anyway, stubbornly glaring back -- then his servos slackened and reformed into digits, and his plain face stretched with exhaustion. He said nothing, but left all the same.

In his absence, the silence was deafening.

 

And uncomfortable. At least, for the rest of the crew milling around. Rodimus opened his mouth a couple of times, but decided against speaking. He used to be all on board for letting Megatron die. He told the mech to his face that he deserved it. But that was a long time ago, and things had changed, for him, for the others that chose to believe that Megatron was no longer the devious, cruel and violent tyrant that could be blamed for the entirety of the war.

Drift stood at his side, servo on his arm when Rodimus did try to speak. The swordsmech just shook his helm slightly and Rodimus frowned. This issue, it wasn’t new. He remembered when Megatron had first been ‘captured’ after his surrender, clutching an unconscious Optimus Prime.

He remembered how their undisputed leader had crumbled, lost his temper after being questioned about his interrogation. But most of all, Rodimus remembered listening to how the two old enemies spoke to one another. With a familiarity that went deeper than anything he knew.

And he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Is he right?” it sounded wispy and thin, the question thrown into the silence, “Is this really about peace?”

Megatron didn’t want to have this conversation. Especially not with Rodimus, who had gotten information out of him he never shared willingly with anyone. Rodimus had more knowledge in his servos than he realized but thankfully, he couldn’t fit the puzzle together on his own. The gunmetal grey mech kept silent, sitting up on his slab, keeping his optics away from the crew.

 

“Of course it is.” It sounded harsh, even to him. Optimus grit his denta, then softened his voice. “All I’ve ever wanted was peace. And we can’t have it if we condemn Megatron to death. Perhaps we’ll have a victory. Perhaps even a short peace. But it will only be a matter of time before a new system -- of winners and losers -- comes into existence. If we continue the cycle, then eventually we will receive exactly what we gave. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. Even the ones we hate.”

No one seemed to want to reply to that. One by one, the room emptied until only Rodimus and Drift were left, both awkward.

“... you’re right.”

Optimus almost sighed with relief.

“I -- I get what you’re trying to say. I don’t like it, but I get it. Um.” Rodimus looked like he wanted to speak more, but didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t until Drift finally pulled him away that he left.

 

Megatron kept silent until the room emptied to just the two of them. They never spoke of it, of course not. What lay beneath was buried under layers of resentment, literal fights to the death and a difference in morals as wide as the Acid Wastes. 

“You’ve always been great at deflecting with speeches about peace. It’s one of your most infuriating and enlightening qualities.”

He stretched back down on the slab, resting his left servo on his chest where he deposited the marred little symbol of his surrender. Optimus was right about regrouping though. Megatron would have the time to think of how to deal with Tarn and Overlord, who either tore each other apart or would rally together to rid themselves of their former lord and master. Time. He needed time. 

“Although you should know that the rumours are partially very unflattering towards even you.”

 

“Don’t.” He’d been hoping Megatron wouldn’t try to talk about this. “And that wasn’t deflecting. I meant it.”

If only everyone believed when he said that.

“Can we discuss what do with this rebel group, instead? I think it’s a bigger problem than whatever’s being implied here. More immediate. The Peaceful Destiny will get us off this planet, and we can regroup with the rest of our forces and begin preparing. But Ratchet’s right. Good mecha don’t deserve to die to their like. I want to end this quickly, without loss of life.”

Deflect, deflect, deflect. “I thought sending you out with the Lost Light was a good idea. Perhaps I was wrong. Back there, that was too close. You almost died.”

He held his servo out for the badge. “May I see?”

 

Optimus was probably the only one Megatron complied to so easily. He deposited the blackened symbol into the other mech’s servo as he digested the possibility of fighting back against Overlord and Tarn. Not personally. He’d sworn not to do that. He knew how thinly veiled his control over his temper truly was and he couldn’t guarantee to keep himself on the path of peace if it ever was beyond his grasp again. His arm still ached where the fusion cannon should be.

“You wanted me to acclimate to a crew of misfits. And you wanted me away from Cybertron, which suited me well because there is nothing left for me there. The Knights continue to be a folly mission, although Rodimus did recall the map.” 

Megatron’s thoughts gravitated back to the trial, to Optimus’ visits, to his threat of unleashing a mnemosurgeon in the name of justice...and yet, not going through. He had ‘respected’ Megatron’s fervent phobia of letting anyone manipulate his brain module. He remembered Optimus and his prepared speech, opening his true thoughts up to the Prime...so many moments shared with nothing of worth ever expressed. Well. They had been dancing for four million years. He could do so a little longer.

“A brute fight is not be the answer to our problem, Optimus. Dare I say we may need to work on some kind of deception.”

He dared a look over, studying his age-old enemy. Optimus never showed his full faceplate, or rarely, and never to his enemies. But his optics, steely, icy blue, they spoke volumes even without his consent.

“Retirement does not suit either of us well.”

 

“It’s only habit. We learned war. We can unlearn it. I would be a happier mech once its shadow leaves Cybertron permanently.”

He turned over the symbol between his digits, feeling the small grooves of its design under his friction pads. Briefly, he wondered how many of these symbols Megatron had personally ripped off, before banishing the thought.

“Subtlety was never a strong point of mine. You were -- are -- better at it than I am. Both of us know that. But if you can make it work, I will follow you. However, Megatron… I have to know if I can trust you.”

Wasn’t that a loaded question, if there ever had been one. Trust. A short word with a meaning few ever grasped completely. How was Megatron to prove himself to Optimus short of ripping out his spark and placing it in his servos? Even that dramatic gesture might be interpreted as some sort of devious plan. Megatron and Optimus had, occasionally, been on the same side of a conflict, granted not their own, but their war had been filled with many unexpected turns. But Megatron had always ensured to betray the Prime’s faith in pretty much the worst ways possible.

“How? How can I possibly convince you that this isn’t a ploy?” Megatron reached for the badge, though he let his servo just rest over Optimus’.

“I’ve given up everything. My conviction, my cannon, my ideology, my pride and my people. What else can you have of me, Optimus? What else can I give to you that you don’t already have?”

 

Unconsciously, his servo moved, their fingers lacing together and trapping the badge in between. Optimus cast for an answer, trying to figure out just how this nameless thing between them was supposed to work.

“You.”

Then his processor caught up with his mouth. Optimus’ spark jumped, then spun, as the only sign of his brief mortification was a minute twitch of an antenna. “I mean, your loyalty. Your pledge. You are an Autobot, yes, but… I want to hear it, from you. Do you swear to be honest with me? Can I trust you, Megatron, enough that I could show you my spark and know you won’t reach inside to crush it?”

 

A tall order for any mech to fulfill, least of all a Decepticon, current or former. Open trust? That was a glaring weakness that Megatron had forced out of himself a long, long time ago. Optimus’ slipup, or rather, his honesty, did not go unnoticed, and neither did the subtle action of locking their fingers together. Megatron did nothing to remove his hand as he let his thoughts form at languid length, rather than speaking.

What Optimus was asking felt like the end. If he assured Optimus of following his request, he truly was finished with everything that he’d become. Wasn’t that what he wanted? To be remembered as something more than a misguided revolutionary turned cruel tyrant? Wasn’t that exactly why Starscream’s scathing words had motivated him to change his legacy?

Optimus. Giving him just one more olive branch. He cycled air through his vents, training his gaze on Optimus’ faceplate which gave away nothing (although he would keep the memory of that embarrassed twitch of his antennae in his memory banks forever).

“You want me to pledge myself to you, or to your cause? Because it is not in the Autobots that I have faith in to want peace and justice, Optimus. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

 

His spark spun faster. Some tiny, foolish, infinitely hopeful part of him rose up, before Optimus quickly strangled it down. They were going too fast into a future Optimus couldn’t see. The thing around them was too thick and Optimus felt like it was constricting him, even as part of him soared.

He could leave. Could pull his servo away, turn away, and go to where the others were. They didn’t have to do this. They’d avoided this for four million years, too entrenched in their own ideals to pay attention to anything else.

He could leave. A memory, however, of Megatron’s accusing words, said a lifetime ago drifted to the forefront.

… you’re too caught up in your loneliness, your self-doubt…

His vents rattled. Behind those words, his own followed.

Have faith.

So Optimus did, and his chest bloomed, metal and glass spreading to reveal brilliant blue light.

“Then prove it,” he said.

 

Megatron’s faceplate was awash with the serene light, his optics widened with the downright aggressive demand from Optimus to prove his words true. He remembered how it felt to have the desire of extinguishing this very spark. He remembered how often he swore he would. But now, faced with it, he felt nothing but an odd awe. That Optimus would do this after all of their shared history. Megatron leaned forward, level with the mech’s chestplate since he still sat on the slab, until his helm nearly rested against Optimus’ frame. He cycled his optics offline, the light too intense from this proximity, but that didn’t stop him from pressing his lips to the exposed cradle. 

“I swear, to you, Optimus. Orion. I am with you, my faith is in you, I am no longer burdened by blind ambition. I only want to leave behind something of worth.”

 

His plates shuddered, pressing down to his protoform, as his entire body screamed at him to retreat, to cover, to protect himself from the mech in front of him. But Optimus’ iron will secured itself, stubbornly holding solid against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. His spark sent out tongues of blue plasma, stroking Megatron’s face with tickles of blue light.

“Very well,” he said, pulling out the words from behind numb lips. “I trust you. I do. I do.”

His servo trembled imperceptibly, antennae angled down and back. Something nameless threatened to make his spark swell, but Optimus shunted it away with the ease of continuous practice. The moment was diminishing now, and Optimus wondered if he should close his chamber now. None of his carefully honed skills accounted for this.

In the end, he decided to just leave it be.

 

Megatron could feel the tendrils, light and energy a delicate touch upon his plating. He could grow to enjoy this, seeing the exposed spark of Optimus right before him like this. He knew it must cost the other willpower in spades to keep himself so vulnerable, but it was just more testament to Optimus’ strength. The former warlord leaned back after a moment more, despite his deep yearning to simply be one with that spark. This thing that had encircled them for millions of years was desperately hungry, but he would not become its slave. 

Neither of them had the luxury of indulging in it.

So he leaned back, not once reaching for that precious spark, instead briefly squeezing Optimus’ hand, his own spark whirling and pulsating inside of chest. It yearned for the other, demanded and cried out for it, but Megatron too possessed remarkable self-control.

“You humble me, Optimus.”

 

He chose not to reply to that, instead letting his spark chamber spiral shut and the protective armor return to its usual place.

“The others will be waiting for us.” It was easier to return to business, easier to stamp down on the unspoken thing and keep it down before it could master Optimus. There was no longer the divide of a war between them… but that only turned an abyss into a chasm. A little smaller, maybe, but no less dividing.

“Can you stand? Walk?” He pulled his servo away, taking the badge with him. His palm tingled, and Optimus rubbed it idly. “I imagine the Peaceful Destiny must be close.”

 

“I imagine so.” Megatron got off of the slab, part of him mourning the passing of this moment. It had been...something. Something private and strong and he wished they could bask in it a little longer. Getting to touch Optimus so gently, it had been something new and now, his circuitry felt to be on fire. 

“Optimus.” The former warlord had walked only a few steps towards the door when he stopped again to turn to his former nemesis. Consciously, his hand wandered to the barren spot on his chest where the badge had clung to his frame.

“You...have me. Just so you know.”

Then again, what else had he thought for millions of years? What assumptions he’d taken on as facts? Their mutual attraction had grown amidst their mutual destruction, and putting a name on it now was just too difficult. But their moments of privacy were few and far in between and if they returned to their respective ships, the chance may not arise again.

 

“... it’s mutual.” The confession was small and soft, so like those blue flowers that sprouted everywhere. Before more could be asked of him, Optimus brushed past Megatron and into the waiting crowd, his shoulders straightening as he took on the weight of command.

Ratchet looked at him accusingly. Optimus glanced at him, before averting his gaze.

It was done. No use thinking about it.

“Rodimus,” he said, “Organize the injured into one group. You and Ultra Magnus will come with me, to discuss what will be done with the Lost Light. We have to recover her, at any rate, and bring back news of the rebel group so Cybertron can prepare.”

As Optimus relayed orders, it almost let him forget Megatron’s burning presence at his back.


	3. Chapter 3

Being aboard the Peaceful Destiny was definitely worse than any moments on the Lost Light. The crew here did not have time to get used to his presence, nor was he in any position to give orders. Megatron took to staying in his assigned quarters, a small room that barely fit a berth in it and not much else. He knew he unnerved the crew. 

The only time he wandered the bridge was when Rodimus insisted. The brightly coloured mech seemed to have a penchant for socializing his former co-captain, and Megatron could only slightly begrudge his earnest efforts. Besides, with Drift back aboard the same ship, Rodimus was plenty occupied and dealing with the loss of his own vessel. Megatron avoided Drift, having no desire to bring up the topic of Deadlock but knowing he would regardless of intention.

Devising a plan to stop Tarn and Overlord and potentially Deathsaurus and his warworld was not going well. 

Plus, he could feel Optimus’ presence aboard the ship like a constant, burning ember lodged between his pistons. So far, they had not conversed about anything but the planned future, and that seemed fine with both of them, especially under the judgemental gaze of the crew. 

And still it kept Megatron awake when he should be recharging, and yes, perhaps he’d turned to a habit he had not bothered with in millions of years in the form of self-service, but nothing he said or did would ever betray his stoic silence on the topic of the thing.

 

Resuming command left him no time to speak to Megatron.

Perhaps it was for the best. Optimus wasn’t sure what he wanted to speak about anyway. There was too much going on, too much woken, and the waters were murky. So Optimus kept a careful distance between them, always managing to find a job that took him away from Megatron’s presence. The questions crowding his processor kept him up, kept him distracted, but Optimus only buried himself in more work.

“Uh, sir?”

He looked up from his stack of datapads. “Yes, Pulse?”

The ship’s CMO, a diminutive medic with wide, nervous eyes, smiled nervously at him. “It’s about… well, it’s about. Um. It’s about the new passengers, sir. The one. You know. Him.”

“...Megatron?”

“Ah, yes, yes.” Pulse looked around, as if he suspected the warlord to be lurking under his medical slab. “Yes, him. He needs a check-up, sir. Since he was damaged. Um. I haven’t called him in yet, actually, because I was a little worried and -- and… could you be there? During the check-up? With him? It won’t take long, but I think it’d be -- “

“Don’t worry,” Optimus assured. It seemed old fears still lived. “I will collect him for you, Pulse, and be there when you check on his health. You don’t need to fear him.”

“Of course! Of course. Yes. Thank you, sir.”

The medic scampered away and Optimus looked at his servos. Oh. Well. He’d gone and that.

The talk was going to be coming faster than he’d expected, or wanted.

Reluctantly, Optimus trudged down to where Megatron’s assigned quarters were. Primus save me.

 

Maybe he should have locked the door. Although he didn’t have the necessary permissions to keep any space locked under his authority, Megatron did have the right to privacy, which was probably why he had not bothered. No one would come barging into his personal quarters under any circumstances. 

The berth wasn’t wide enough to be called indulgent, but Megatron made do, optics offlined as he let his hands service parts of him that had been dormant for too long. There wasn’t so much else for him to do except brood over plans of battle and capture. And no, the thought of besting Tarn did not put him into this state, with his spark pulsing hard and his frame shuddering under waves of pleasure that he had denied himself for too long.

It was no great surprise that he missed the alert that someone wanted to enter his room. The roar of his cooling fans was blocking out any other kind of noise, at least until the door in fact slid open.

 

Knocking politely did nothing. Neither did a harder knock. Curiosity -- and concern -- made him use his captain’s override on the door.

“Megatron, it’s Optimus  -- “

Oh.

Oh.

He dropped his datapads with a loud series of clatter, optics wide and blazing in humiliated shock. Megatron was -- he was -- his digits were --

“Sorry!” he blurted out, “I am so sorry, Primus forgive me, I’m so sorry!”

He tried to back out of the room, then realized he had no reliable way of closing the door from the outside because if he left, he was going to run and what if someone came down the corridor, oh Primus.

His only option was to step inside, scattering datapads with his mortified steps, slap the door shut and turn everything offline.

“I am so sorry,” he repeated. “I will leave, right now. I will. Primus.”

 

Nothing killed his arousal faster than an unexpected intrusion, even if it was, in fact, the subject of his fantasies that had just barged in on Megatron’s stolen moment of privacy. The former warlord sat up, removing his damn digits from his damn valve and slamming his interface panel shut with a harsh clang that had him wince, especially because his valve continued to contract in want behind it.

“Ah..Optimus it’s not...I...uh..” 

Well. This was not something he could claim to have experience with. The room was dark, but he could feel Optimus’ distress coming off in waves through his field. Embarrassment crowded his quarters and Megatron felt heat rising through him at the most inopportune of times.

“You don’t...have to leave. I’m covered. Closed.” desperately on the verge of an overload.

Optimus had been avoiding him ever since they boarded the ship, so Megatron was not going to pass up an opportunity to talk. Even on the back of a humiliating situation and sitting in some of his own lubricant.

“Did...did you need something? It’s not like you to call on me.”

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

Let the ground swallow him up, please. Let it just consume him, leaving nothing behind. Even the fallen datapads. Optimus tried not to recall grey and black and bright, bright red… and found his processor bringing it up in even more vivid detail.

“I… I didn’t know. I was. I was here on my medic’s behalf, to collect you for a medical check-up. I was going to be supervising. Primus. Megatron. I am really sorry. I intruded on something deeply private. I should’ve knocked louder, or commed you, or -- anything else. I just thought you didn’t  --”

And he was going stop right there. 

 

“Didn’t self-service? Well, it’s good to know I can still surprise you.” Megatron cycled his cooling fans down manually, their high setting only adding to the embarrassing situation that seemed to be sending Optimus into a fit of despair. Perhaps the former warlord should feel more self-conscious about being caught in an intimate moment, but now that the shock was waning off, he found himself curious about Optimus’ reaction.

“Really, Optimus, there’s...no need to feel so badly about it. It is my fault for not locking the door.” Megatron got off of the berth but a wet squelch had him grimace slightly, fighting to stay dignified. Lubricant was clinging to his panel, valve still furiously disappointed to be deprived of an overload. 

“A medical checkup, huh?” 

Conversation. Anything to cover the obvious sound of his burning desire to have Optimus where his digits had been so playfully busy a moment before.

 

His audials burned at the slight, wet noises that accompanied the sound of Megatron moving from his berth. Optimus marshalled the frayed remnants of his composure and tried to prop them up in a semblance of dignity.

“Yes. A medical check-up. Usually, medical just calls you in but…” a humorless chuckle, “You intimidate them too much. So they asked me to help.”

For a while, the roaring fans were the only sound in the room. Optimus could feel the crossroads -- one urging him to leave and give Megatron some space to clean up, and other whispering maybe you could offer…?

“I’ll wait outside,” Optimus said. He knelt to gather as many datapads as he could, pushing down the pang of missed opportunities with habitual ease.

 

“That’s probably...for the best. For your composure.” Megatron couldn’t help the slight dig. This was a rare chance at something light between them and the way the Prime’s antennae seemed to twitch and strain was an unexpectedly enchanting new quality to his former enemy.

“Unless...”

Oh, was he going to risk this? It had the potential to backfire, to send them sprinting away from the heavy secret between them. It had the potential to destroy something too frail to stand on its own just yet. He shouldn’t. But he started his sentence, and the invitation was welcomed by his downright dripping components.

“You want to give me a hand?”

He’d said it. Laid it out for Optimus to be the one to destroy it. Too early, too soon. Megatron’s spark pulsed harder, no longer in arousal, but in fear of already having lost.

 

“... a hand?” Optimus parroted dumbly.

And just like that, the mortification was replaced by something far, far more expansive. This was a pivotal moment between them, something great and terrible but also fragile, hovering at the edge of a precipice they both felt. Suddenly The Choice was thrust into his servos and Optimus had no guide but his own will.

Well. He was used to feeling that, at least.

He looked up at Megatron again, still on his knees, loosely holding onto a datapad. Wasn’t it funny, how Optimus could somehow command a planet’s worth of armies without faltering, but here, in the dark and alone with his former nemesis, all of his carefully built walls and habits fell away? Megatron had picked up on it, and wielded it against him once.

Was this another?

A part of him felt immediate shame for suspecting the worst, especially after what’d happened on the planet in Ratchet’s clinic, but four million years of hate, conflict, and intent to kill didn’t go away just like that. Megatron had demonstrated that he was untrustworthy and willing to use anything, anything at all, to claw some form of advantage…

Would he use himself?

It left a chill in him when Optimus realized he couldn’t answer that.

“... what will happen if I say yes?” he asked, not budging. This was… too fast. Too soon. After everything… time was needed. Indulging in it, as tempting as it was, would burn out something precious.

 

Megatron stilled at that. It wasn’t a no. But it was apprehension, and it physically rebuffed his eager curiosity. Optimus knew how delicate this unstable thing between them was. Was it worth burning this bridge already, for the sake of one measly overload?

No. It wasn’t. He’d have to eat those bold words of his, if he wanted any chance to explore what could be between them.

“...In an ideal world, you would frag me in the washrack. But since we’re dealing with reality...” he sighed, pressing the pad that would allow him access to the ridiculously smaller room.

“Nothing. Give me a minute to clean myself. And I suppose for you to forget this happened.”

 

The moment popped like a soap bubble. Optimus looked back down, sweeping a few more datapads into the crook of his arm, and sighed. It was for the best.

They were people of war. It forged them. And the two of them were used to the physical meeting of force, clashing ideologies and fists -- but something else? That other thing? It was amazing enough that they got this far, and pushing it would end up breaking whatever it was they had.

It could not matter. Or it could ruin everything.

Optimus wasn’t going to gamble on those odds. Apparently, neither was Megatron.

He wasn’t going to forget this. It would be yet another memory and hope-tinted what-if that would keep him up. When the last of the datapads were organized, he looked at the berth.

His audials pricked. Megatron was still in the washracks, so…

Hastily, he pressed his palm to the berth, feeling the residual warmth. It sent his digits tingling and Optimus pulled away just as hastily.

Maybe. One day. Just maybe.

 

Megatron would never know that the sight of him had been enticing to the Prime. Instead, he washed himself, setting the cleaning fluid to the coolest temperature available to dissuade his valve from expecting a more satisfying end to his little session. 

It didn’t take him long, only a couple of minutes, and he emerged with the usual resignation behind his optics, trudging over to the door beyond which Optimus waited to be his escort.

Not a word more about what happened passed between them and only the slight elevation of Megatron’s internal heat gave away what he’d been doing.

“Which way is the medbay?” He glanced at the precariously balanced stack of datapads, wondering if Optimus really needed to have so many at hand. 

 

“Follow me,” he said.

The walk was short. Optimus shouldered the doors open and led them both inside. “Pulse. I got him.”

“Uh, uh, hello! You’re here. Great, great. Lovely. Please. Please get on the medical berth and uh, try not to move. Um. I am Pulse. Chief Medical Officer of the Peaceful Destiny. Please.”

Nervous wasn’t even beginning to cover it. Megatron wondered if his reputation continued to terrify bots and here was the truth, because the medic downright skittered. He tried to move slowly, deliberately, obeying the polite order and laying down on the berth. He beginning to do a lot of that under Autobot care.

“Do I need to be doing anything?”

 

“No!” Pulse squeaked. He shrunk under Megatron’s attention, until Optimus quickly stepped in. He flared his EM field for Megatron’s attention, before tapping his comm. Pulse was going to die from spark failure if he had to endure even a second longer of Megatron looking at him.

::Megatron?:: he opened his usually private channel to open broadcast, trying to draw the mech’s gaze. Talking over comms would keep him distracted enough to not bother Pulse as he worked.

 

Megatron had not used this comm channel in a long, long time. It felt odd, intrusive, but also intensely personal. He focused on it rather than the skittish medic, who, in Megatron’s esteemed opinion, was strongly exaggerating.

::Optimus.:: he answered with his usual confidence, gaze lazily shifting from Pulse to Optimus Prime’s chest.

 

::I hope you’re comfortable with this. I understand that Pulse isn’t being...exactly hospitable, but he’s a good medic. He’ll check your vitals, then repair the rest of the damage. Then we can fit you with another badge.::

The blackened lump he’d gotten from Megatron was still in his possession. Namely, resting on a shelf in his quarters. It served as a reminder.

::How was the Lost Light? Rodimus seems to like you.::

Which was new. The last time, Rodimus had been yelling at Optimus for not being harsher with Megatron.

 

Megatron merely transmitted a glyph that could roughly be interpreted as amusement. Rodimus liked him alright, maybe moreso than Optimus was bargaining with. But he wouldn’t share any details of what co-captaincy of the Lost Light had meant behind closed private quarter doors.

::Be honest with me. You sent me into his company on purpose. Testing my patience and resolve. I cannot think of a more incompetent Autobot I have ever met. Or a more optimistic one at that.::

Being on the Lost Light had taught him plenty, though he wasn’t sure how useful any of it would be.

 

::Rodimus is learning,:: Optimus protested. ::Being Prime is a big job. No one starts out perfect.::

Optimus could remember his awkward first days as Prime. Learning how to deliver speeches, how to juggle opposing factions, with expectations… in a way, the war was good. It forced him to learn at an accelerated pace and gave him little time for the more ceremonial, superficial aspects of Primacy.

::At least you have some friends now. That mutiny will have to be dealt with, in time. It’s...unfortunate. I knew my decisions were questioned, but I didn’t think they would have done something so drastic.::

These were good, safe conversational topics. The previous awkwardness drained out of Optimus as they ventured into safer waters again.

 

Megatron would have preferred the murky depths of earlier, especially since he didn’t finish taking care of himself. Although the flaming desire had drained out of him now and his valve cleaning protocols were already running.

::You believe he will become a good leader one day. It’s admirable that you have so much planned for a future despite giving up your mantle as Prime. Which you have reclaimed. Leadership just won’t let you slip away, will it?::

A little teasing, a lot of truth. Megatron could enjoy this conversation with ease.

::I’m just surprised they didn’t rebel against my presence sooner. I sort of expected than the one assassination attempt.::

 

::Prowl...did warn me that trouble would occur. I didn’t want to believe him. I had...faith.:: Optimus’ EM field grew melancholy. ::Perhaps, some might say, too much faith.::

He gave Megatron a sharper look. Not entirely reprimanding, but a little testy. ::I didn’t want the title back. I had to though. Cybertron was at risk of another war and they refused anyone but me. With Rodimus gone… I just had to pick up where I left off.::

Something that still troubled him, even now. When could Optimus ever let go of his title. Could he?

“How are things, Pulse?” he asked, trying to distract himself.

The medic was working away at Megatron’s midsection, scanners hooked up to his chest, frowning. “There’s… something. A thing. It’s messing up my scanners and no matter how deep I look, I can’t seem to see it. Did, uh. Did you modify yourself, Meg -- Lord Me -- sir?”

 

“I didn’t, no. But I can’t speak for what Shockwave has made of me.” Megatron didn’t mean to answer in the sharp tone that he did, but being tampered with was still one of his worst fears and he’d endured an endless amount of it.

“Don’t ask me what he did, though. Velocity has been trying to understand it. Perhaps you ought to consult her.”

Whatever dark matter resided in him still never made its presence known invasively, but the heavy weight of it never quite left his mind. What was he now? What could he do? Would it do something to him?

 

::What happened?::

Pulse ducked away, muttering things into a recorder, as he gave up on trying to comprehend Megatron’s internals. Instead, he got back to repairing, welding holes close and sanding them down to smoothness. It was dull, mind-numbing work that took place in the periphery. Optimus looked at Megatron’s chest and waist, as if trying to divine its secrets.

::Will it kill you?::

 

::Are you worried?:: Megatron couldn’t help but relish the notion, however alien it seemed for his former nemesis to think such foolish thoughts. 

::It hasn’t yet. It’s...a lingering heaviness, but it has never given me any pain.::

The large mech didn’t move, just flickered his optics down to where Pulse continued to work away on his frame. How many times had he been rebuilt, reshaped, broken down and improved? It was a miracle he considered this frame to be his own at all. But his protoform was still the same and it shifted with discomfort under the ministrations of the medic.

 

::Shouldn’t I be?:: His gaze lingered. ::We could get someone to look at you. Wheeljack, maybe.::

Pulse was almost finished now. He held up the Autobot badge, its fresh paint gleaming in the medibay’s lights. “S-Stay still. It’ll be quick.”

Optimus watched the process, rapt. There was something fascinating about the process of being branded. Something visceral, spark-deep.

::It looks better than the purple.:: It slipped out, without much thought, and Optimus winced.

 

Megatron raised a physical brow at that remark, not in the slightest appreciating it. This process was personal, but he didn’t feel particularly vindicated by the red symbol on his chest. It stood for all of his mistakes, not his ideals. There were still some very deep particulars about being a Decepticon that he couldn’t let go. The initial movement, his hopes and dreams before any bloodshed began...some part of him still associated the purple symbol with it. The red may suit his biolights, but it still wasn’t a perfect fit for him.

::...Does it make you relish your victory?:: the bitterness in his transmission took them further apart than they’d been when Optimus stumbled upon his privacy. Megatron had all sorts of jagged edges and wounds that would not simply be welded smooth.

 

::I thought you knew me better than that.:: It was more subdued now. The yawning gap between them seemed widen just a few inches. ::It never was about victory. I just wanted to… help. To change things. And things just spiralled from there.::

They were both familiar with that, weren’t they?

::I wanted to be a Decepticon, once. I didn’t know the name, not yet, but I saw what you were doing and I wanted a place in it. You inspired me. That first meeting...do you actually remember it?::

 

::I remember being arrested without committing a crime. I certainly remember being beaten in a cell.:: Megatron couldn’t possibly keep bitterness out of those memories. He still could taste a faint, distant scent of the anger that had filled him that day. Anger and fear, easily turned to hatred and rage.

::I remember being told I’d be another forgotten, wasted spark. Whirl was not quite right in that assumption....But yes. I remember. You read my work. You didn’t treat me as a dirty mining drone.::

 

Notes of apology wafted out from Optimus. That incident hadn’t been a proud one. He’d took pride in being tough, but fair, and for someone under his command to have gone off like that…

Of course, there was more to it. It still didn’t ease the sting.

::I enjoyed it. You have a way with words. The one who reported Whirl’s actions died later...it was a mess. So I took a leaf from your book, and decided to do something about it.::

Optimus’ gaze was considering. ::Sometimes, I wonder if you’d gotten to me early enough, if I would have been a Decepticon.::

 

Megatron considered it too. If he and Optimus, or Orion Pax, rather, had seen optic to optic, and been on the same side...the revolution may have been just that. And order might have followed their success, a new, better society. Then again...the people that followed him were angry, and mere reform would not have fulfilled what he promised, the peaceful tyranny he advertised so ardently.

::If so, you would not have been one for long. There were...signs. Signs I should have understood and controlled, instead of letting them guide me into a war I could only lose.:: Speaking about was never pleasant, but Optimus was as personally involved in the war as he. And for a strange reason, he was the mech Megatron expected to be most objective about all of it.

::Maybe you could have kept me sane.::

 

::Maybe.:: Optimus said neutrally. ::It’s too late now. What’s happened, happened.::

“Done,” Pulse announced, drawing Optimus’ attention. He shrunk before Megatron could look at him, however. “I’m finished. Uh. He can go. You can go. Um. Yes.”

Pulse scuttled back. Optimus looked at Megatron. ::Do you want to go to your quarters yourself?::

 

::I would welcome some company. I have a feeling this crew avoids me even more than my own.:: Megatron got off of the berth. He would have maybe thanked the medic for his efforts, but Pulse didn’t seem at all keen on being near him in any way, shape or form. 

Another sigh as he brushed his servo over his renewed badge. It still didn’t feel right, but he could admit he deserved it for his actions. Just because he was a repentant mech didn’t mean he wasn’t making progress. Figuring out himself anew was a trip and a half and at least it gave him something to do with all of his copious spare time.

::Unless you would prefer to go back to avoiding me.::

 

::I haven’t been avoiding you.:: It came out weak, even to his own audials. ::...sorry. Maybe I can make it up to you?::

They walked together, shoulder to shoulder. People cleared out of their way. Most of them glared at Megatron, but some were staring at Optimus.

Worrying.

 

::Make it up to me?:: Megatron’s interested was perked alright. Optimus felt guilty, which meant the former warlord had put his finger right into a wound. Or just spoken a truth that Optimus didn’t want to here.

::They’re already suspicious of yours. At least the Decepticons were always too afraid to make comments in my presence. Or give me those glances.::

 

::I don’t want them to fear me. If they think me wrong, they may question me. If they think me harmful, they may oppose me. Free will is their right. It makes things messy, tangled, and hard to track… but it is better than what we had before.::

::And yes. Make it up to you. Within reason.::

 

::As if I would ever demand something other than reasonable from you.:: Megatron could get used to being allowed this much light conversation with Optimus. It only made him realize just how frugal he had been about his socialisations aboard the Lost Light. But maybe, that also depended on the company he kept. 

Was it pathetic that he craved good conversation above all else? Was it needy and strange that his oldest enemy would be the only balm on the gaping void of guilt that threatened to engulf him every day and night?

::I’m always reasonable.::

 

The silence that stepped in right after that particular statement was weighty, and Optimus broke it with a low snort and chuckle. ::Of course you are. Absolutely.::

And just like that, it felt like they had been old friends rather than old enemies, old friends who poked at each other’s flaws and laughed over shared jokes. Optimus could pretend only up until the next person to glare at Megatron, but it was a nice idea. An idea that could be kept.

::You still haven’t told me what you wanted. Unless you’d like to wait?::

They were getting close to Megatron’s quarters now. Optimus stopped outside the door. No one was near, so he switched off private comms. “I’ll try to stop avoiding you,” he said.

 

“That would be appreciated.” Megatron was not starved for companionship, but with Optimus on the same ship, it felt a waste not to even communicate with each other. Primus knew no one else was going to seek out his company or opinion. Even Rodimus kept his distance, shepherded by Drift everywhere he went.

Maybe it was for the better. He was probably not a good influence on the young Prime.

“I was thinking of maybe writing once more. Nothing grand and inspirational.”

 

“I’d like to read it, if you’re fine with that. I’m not much of a literary buff myself but… it would be nice. Who knows, maybe you’ll get published someday. After everything that’s happened, Cybertron could do with a cultural resurgence.”

His comm blipped, and Optimus glanced down at his wrist. Duty calls.

“I have to go. You have my comm channel, so you can just ping me over it for -- anything, really. I’ll see you later.”

Optimus lingered a touch longer than he should’ve, but another insistent ping from his comms spurred him on. The scars and wounds weren’t going to heal over any time soon, but this might be a step in the right direction.


	4. Chapter 4

He wasn’t on the bridge often. In fact, he rarely bothered to make it this far down the corridor. As any ship, the Peaceful Destiny had a dull interior design that was difficult to navigate without the right clearance, but thankfully, someone had given him the necessary map file. And he’d been avoiding this particular corridor for so long. 

It felt like a tribunal, not a bridge. He was here to discuss strategy, or rather, bring up something that could, maybe even work in attracting and trapping Tarn like a rogue-ish turbofox. It just depended on them getting back the Lost Light and Megatron putting his life at risk, but he was no stranger to those things.

The door slid open and he entered the bustle of the bridge. Ignoring every glance and quiet comment, he marched up to the mapping table, a usual spot for discussion at least on every ship he’d ever been on board of. Optimus was over in or near his captain’s seat, but he didn’t get a glance from the former warlord who was here for one reason and one reason only.

To take Tarn down once and for all, without putting him out of his misery. Megatron would and could talk him out of his madness. Maybe. He hoped.

Chatter on the bridge quieted significantly when everyone realized who’d entered their midst. A wide circle was made for the mech, and more than a few whispered comments flew around the room. Optimus sent a few quelling looks around before he strode over the the mapping table.

Resting one servo on the edge, he looked at Megatron, examined him. There seemed to be a… sense of purpose, perhaps, to him. His steps a little harder, his posture a little straighter. Not aggressive like it’d been during the war, but much more deliberate than before.

It… looked good on him.

“Megatron,” Optimus said in way of greeting. He leaned against the mapping table, leaving the floor open for him to speak when he was ready.

 

“Optimus.” Megatron had always liked the sound of his nemesis’ designation, rolling over his glossa like a pleasant engex. At the worst of times, it was a curse. At the best, a breathy promise into silent solitude.

Megatron drummed his dark servos on the table, allowing for a dramatic pause. He did always like an attentive audience. 

“We have the coordinates of the Lost Light. Once we quell the mutineer crew and have it back under our control, I propose we allow the DJD to continue tracking it. Most notably, tracking a transmission I will make. It’s come to my attention that there is chatter on some...channels,” he paused, allowing himself to give Optimus a significant glance. Decepticon channels. “That there is a widespread belief that I am dead. I will repel this notion and Tarn will back on my trail. Which is exactly where we want him to be.”

 

“The mutineers should be put in the brig -- the Peaceful Destiny can offer space on hers, if the Lost Light is overwhelmed. However, even with such a transmission, there is no promise that they will find us immediately, or that we will face them divided, as before.”

Optimus glanced over the mapping table, his optics distant as he thought. “The mutiny needs to be put down quickly and above all, quietly. There are a few disgruntled factions on Cybertron and we can’t afford anymore agitation from their corner. They already coordinated with Deathsaurus and Tarn -- because being left on the planet for that execution couldn’t have been a coincidence by any means -- and now likely know the attempt failed. The Lost Light will know we’re after them. We have to catch them before they get to Cybertron, or we won’t be able to touch them. After that, we finally stop Tarn and his errants.”

::Will we kill him?:: 

Optimus showed no outward indication of sending the ping. He continued to talk, drawing up the plans with quick, efficient swipes of his servo. On the mapping table, Cybertron softly glowed, along with the estimated position of the Lost Light with the Peaceful Destiny in hot pursuit shown in small blinking dots. ETA glowed besides them.

As it was, the window of time for capture was small and shrinking with each minute. The Lost Light already had a good head start on them and the Peaceful Destiny was by no means a pursuit vessel.

“Maybe we should use a trap. We can’t hope to imprison them all, especially with the facilities on hand. But if we make the ship itself their trap…”

He fell silent, digits drumming in unconscious mimicry of Megatron. His brow was knitted, frame taut with simmering tension. The more Optimus sank into his troubling thoughts, the more unhappy he grew.

This was more than a simple case of mutiny on either sides. If left unhindered, it could blow up into a political debacle of monstrous proportions.

“Are you suggesting we disable the whole ship from here and trap them there? That...sounds impossible.” Without any ‘technopathic’ outliers, it was a ridiculous notion to even consider, but Megatron knew there were plenty of mecha aboard who were more than just a little interested in retrieving the Lost Light. Rodimus was basically whining about it every time Megatron clapped optics on him. Drift’s company kept the former co-captain at bay though.

::It would be for the best to kill him. But I’ve sworn off violence, so I...should not be the one to do it. Although it would be fitting.::

Arranging the Lost Light as bait whilst they had no control over the ship was damn near as impossible as knocking out the mutineer crew from a distance. 

“I meant we use it to trap the Decepticon forces -- especially Tarn, Overlord, and Deathsaurus. Retake the Lost Light from the mutineers, you bait them, and implant a dummy signal so they think you’re aboard. They board, find the ship empty, and we seal them within. They’re too high-risk to face on the battlefield. We could win the battle, and they could easily cut ties and run until they can remuster new forces. Put them in an enclosed space, however, and we could starve them out or simply blow the ship up.”

It was a tried and true technique and an Autobot favorite for battlefield juggernauts. Optimus was about to go on when he received the returning ping, and a strange mix of delight, surprise, and disbelief went over him.

“You -- “ Optimus stopped himself. “Megatron, step out with me for a moment, if you would.”

Megatron wondered how that information had not made it to Optimus at this point. He figured the crew would be more than happy to chat about him, especially Rodimus who had a complete problem with keeping information personal.

“It’s a sound strategy, although I wonder if Tarn is gone far enough to fall for a dummy signal. He’s got a special set of senses...and he’s been keyed into my signal for years.” Even as Megatron stepped beyond the door, he was not willing to finish his only contribution to their future for the moment.

 

“He was far gone enough to meet with you, wasn’t he? He’s not exactly a model of stability and control.” Call it karma.

The door to the bridge closed. Optimus closed the outer door as well, sealing them within the small corridor that connected the bridge to the rest of the ship.

“Before we go on any further -- when did that happen?”

 

Megatron didn’t think this was necessary, especially since they could have just commed their conversation during the strategic discussion. But apparently, this was a big deal to Optimus and he would treat it as such.

“...a while ago. We ran into some...disagreement with a mech named Froid. I...made the decision before then. To become a pacifist.” 

Ridiculous. It sounded so ridiculous. As if subtracting violence would quell his deep need to live out his terrible temper. But it was a vital component of him as a warrior, as a tyrant. Stripping it away meant a whole damn lot.

There’s more than that. But Optimus didn’t pry. Not obviously, anyway.

“Is this related to the fool’s energon?” he asked. “And I understand this means you won’t be joining any battles anymore, unless it’s in a support capacity.”

He wasn’t disappointed. He was not. That would be incredibly selfish of him because here Megatron was, working towards atonement and controlling that mile-wide violent streak, and Optimus was going to be firmly supportive and encouraging the entire time. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to be fighting alongside Megatron again, besides the loss of firepower, and even that could be replaced.

So Optimus strangled that flash of disappointment into silence and nodded. “I trust your judgment.”

 

“The fool’s energon was your idea,” Megatron growled, though he lacked any true aggression. He felt drained most days, though he could still fight to defend himself if he truly wanted to. Centuries of starvation had never hampered his will to live, and being slowly poisoned was no worse than that.

Maybe he owed Optimus a little slack. Presiding over his trial, deciding to indulge his plea to be judged by the Knights of Cybertron...his nemesis had gone out of his way to give Megatron chances over chances. It was disheartening to know that any genuine gesture of change still surprised the Prime.

“I’m tired of solving my problems through death and destruction.”

 

Optimus wondered if he could get that on recording for Prowl to hear sometime. “That’s good.”

He conceded the jab about the fool’s energon, though a part of him wondered if it was really necessary anymore. Ratchet said it would weaken his armor, lower his aggression, dampen his moods into a controllable baseline… and Optimus wondered, as he looked at Megatron, if it was the mech or the chemical that made the change.

A part of him hoped for the former. The rest feared that it was the latter, and that Megatron wouldn’t change without being compelled to. Couldn’t change.

Perhaps it was time for a talk with Ratchet about the fool’s energon.

“I wanted to talk to you about something else besides the newfound pacifism. It’s about Cybertron. You realize the political ramifications the mutiny could have, right?”

Optimus would’ve liked to keep his servos free of politics. But nothing was easy and even peace was a tangled, messy thing that got harder the more he tried to nurture it.

“They… hate you. And I can’t say they don’t have a good reason. Those mutineers aren’t mutineering because of selfish desires, they’re doing it because they think the Autobot High Command -- that I -- betrayed our faction. A lot of people think that, even if they won’t do anything this drastic. If this gets back to Cybertron, putting them away will be seen as me trying to silence them.”

Optimus ran a servo down his face, venting. “What I’m worried about is if I am.”

 

“That sounds like a problem for Autobot High Command, not your premier war criminal,” Megatron didn’t want to dive back into politics. Despite his pacifism and his resolution to make amends, he still had the notion that politics couldn’t be handled delicately. Change didn’t happen without someone to enforce it. Mecha didn’t change without someone who told them to. Optimus’ desire to step back and let others lead was a foolish mistake. Couldn’t the Prime see that? Cybertron, when given the choice, made the worst decisions Megatron could barely even think of. Such as electing Starscream. How could Optimus think that politics in the hands of such fools wouldn’t just lead right back into a society that suffocated the silent and choked out the underprivileged?

“Are you silencing sensible mecha who have made a peaceful motion to express their dissatisfaction? No. You are going to punish soldiers in a military structure who committed mutiny. You are so used to viewing everything under the scrutiny of the politicians that you fail to see that they don’t have the right to criticize your every move.”

Alright, maybe the revolutionary fire had not died out in Megatron yet. Maybe getting angry on behalf of Optimus and his actions felt kind of justified.

 

“... thanks. It means a lot, coming from you.”

It did, actually. Optimus had very little in the way of fears, but one of them had always been the underlying niggling wonder if he would one day, accidentally restore the old system again. That somewhere down the line, he’d go down the same dark path his predecessors had. It was a premature one and one that didn’t have a lot of evidence, but it kept Optimus cautious. He had to keep a line he couldn’t cross. Stepping over it once and or twice might be okay, even justified. But that was an easy road and familiarity didn’t equate good.

“Megatron, could I ask you for a final favor, before we return to the bridge to hammer out the details?”

 

The former warlord tilted his helm slightly at that. Did the Prime seem different today? He held himself...cautiously. Curious. Observing Optimus had not been an option for Megatron since coming aboard, his access rather restricted. But from what glances he gathered, he was not the only war veteran who was frugally aware of their every step being observed.

“Of course. What is it?”

 

“If I ever slip, I want you to stop me.”

It was a risky admission. It was one colored with doubt and nagging worry. It was one Optimus shouldn’t have. When so much depended on him, he couldn’t afford the luxury of buckling.

“I’m not going into the specifics of the how or why. But you’ll know. And you’ll make the right choice.”

After all, they’ve been fighting a war against each other this long. Each fight had been in earnest, each shot meant to be the killing blow. They were no strangers to putting sentimentality aside and, if it came to that, putting the other down for good.

 

Optimus might not trust Megatron in many things. Yet, even if everything else was a lie, he could trust Megatron to kill him.

 

It was like an unspoken (or rather, spoken now) pact that they had had for four million years. They fought each other, they beat each other, a couple of times, they even killed each other. And yes, it was always personal without blossoming into hatred. Megatron respected Optimus deeply, and it was a kind of respect and awe that no one else had ever been able to wrench from him. Optimus was always a special case. Someone as stubborn and smart as Megatron himself, yet tangled in a different net of ideals and always at the front of the fight, ready to strike down the former warlord.

It would only make sense that they would be the death of one another, one way or...like this. Megatron cycled his vents, letting his optics glide over Optimus’ helm. How unchanged, despite the long, long war he looked. Megatron yearned to rip that battlemask off, a violent little desire among his rational thoughts.

“In any way possible. I will let not let you turn Cybertron back into the monstrosity that forged me in its fire.”

To that, Optimus could only silently nod, even as his optics blazed a little brighter, belying the whirl of thoughts under his contained exterior. His plates shifted minutely as he leaned closer to rest a heavy servo on Megatron’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“We should go back to the bridge.” And that inexplicable thing was back again, perhaps drawn up to the surface by proximity, or the quiet promise. Optimus still hadn’t let go, though he probably, really should. From here, he dimly thought, he was close enough to see the smaller circuitry of Megatron’s optics. It was something he’d only seen when they’d fought physically.

Let go. Go to the bridge. Keep working.

It was up to Megatron, now.

 

Letting go wasn’t part of the plan. Megatron gazed at Optimus, really trying to understand what the Prime was thinking. Did he feel limited by the scrutiny of his subordinates, his peers and whatever else Optimus cared about? Did he feel as betrayed and constrained as Megatron? They’d always been alike. Or maybe he should describe it as a sort of kinship. A way of knowing each other that didn’t require more than an amazingly complicated, twisted shared history.

 

That servo on his shoulder became heavier and warmer by the second. Megatron didn’t want it gone from his frame. He wanted to return the favour, run his fingers over Optimus Prime in a way he’d never dared to. Although he had indeed wondered what it would be like to explore his nemesis as something else entirely.

 

“Have you...ever contemplated what you would do after everything is...settled? When Cybertron no longer needs old mecha like us?”

“Sometimes. When I feel like I can see the end coming. I think I’d like to stop 

being Prime, permanently. By then, Rodimus will have learned enough to lead. And maybe I’ll settle down somewhere. Or travel, just to see the galaxy without thinking about whether this planet will be a good base or if that species might be under risk.”

In truth, Optimus’ hopes for the futures were vague, ill-defined things. He’d tried to leave it all once and what had been the result? Uproar on Cybertron and Optimus -- then Orion -- being dragged back into it all once again.

“I wouldn’t call us old. Just tired. What about you?”

 

“I...haven’t thought of a future beyond my judgement.” Megatron didn’t have to spell out what he was thinking. He was pretty sure that if his life did extend to the miraculous day that the Knights of Cybertron would be found, it would be his last. Their judgement would decide his fate, and it was their lack of presence that motivated Megatron to demand it so. To buy some time, to extend his life for him to think and be just a little longer.

It was not a journey he expected to return from.

“I don’t dwell in impossibilities.”

But at least he had this brief respite with Optimus, which seemed a choice stretch of time to contemplate what could have been, if their paths had been different.

 

And here Optimus had forgotten that judgment was to come and that judgment may very well spell Megatron’s death. It was hard, thinking about that. Megatron had become such a constant for him that Optimus  _ stopped  _ thinking Megatron could die. He could be shattered, blown up, stabbed, and so on, but sheer stubborn will would make him coming back again and again.

It was a reminder that their time together might just be terribly short. That they’d keep dancing around the subject on and on until, suddenly, one of them was permanently wrenched away and the soundless, nameless thing would wither away into dust.

Even now, their time was short. Would Optimus see Megatron again, after the mutiny was handled and the rebels disbanded? Probably not. He’d leave with Rodimus and his crew again, searching the stars for the Knights who’d determine if Megatron deserved to live.

His mask  _ snick _ ed back, baring his face. His mouth twitched up into a faint smile, made awkward by exposure.

“When has  _ impossible _ ever stopped the two of us?”

 

It was quite the sight, Megatron mused as he gazed upon the handsome faceplate of his nemesis. Optimus looked younger without the mask, less hardened, perhaps even softer. Now there was a contradiction he would have to get used to. The warrior Prime, soft? Anyone who knew Optimus would shy away from such a ridiculous notion.

Megatron did not. He openly stared, wanted to reach forward, wanted to indulge in the rare showing of...what, trust? Hardly. This was more of a test.

“Not lately, as I recall. But I have no illusions as to what any party may judge of me after my history. I’ve seen the lives my actions claimed. I’ve been to the Necrobot’s world. But it is not the destination, right? It’s all about the journey.”

And he was grateful to Optimus to have given him the chance at this damn weird journey. Rodimus, the crew, the mutiny, even the DJD were mere hiccups along the way. Megatron was entrenched in himself, in figuring out when he’d lost control of himself, his temper, the madness that forged a warmonger.

“Though I wouldn’t mind striding the last of it with you.”

Open invitation for the lingering heaviness of _ it. The thing _ .


	5. Chapter 5

In any other situation, Optimus might’ve left it there. He would’ve nodded, stepped back, and sealed himself away again, letting the distance between them remain. But there wasn’t time for that, was there? They’d spent so long waging war, that now they couldn’t even comprehend how to cross that gap.

The invitation was there. It was said as plainly as either of them could manage. Never  _ too  _ plain, they couldn’t go there, but clear enough that it didn’t matter.

So Optimus stepped a little closer, spark stuttering with foreign terror of something that  _ wasn’t  _ death, because the sad little truth was Optimus Prime feared intimacy more than he feared dying.

And his mouth just barely brushed Megatron’s. He was probably holding Megatron too hard now, his plating was weakened and Optimus should really soften his hold, but. But. This was happening. It wasn’t trust or even sexual desire but the impulsive drive that sent Optimus careening headfirst into danger with half a plan and a spark full of faith. And that same instinct sent him here. 

_ Faith. Have faith. _

It was more than Megatron had bartered for. Yes, he always knew that eventually, something may change between himself and the mech he’d been waging a war against for so long. When he had given himself up, and Optimus had come to interrogate him, this tiny, incomprehensible spark of hope had lodged itself into the back of his processor. A ridiculous little thing that he doubted he’d ever explore.

But Optimus was right here, and pressing his absurdly handsome faceplate against his and there just wasn’t any more time or room to wallow in his thoughts. Now or never struck him as an odd sentiment for the two of them, but it would work. It had to. That was kind of the point. It felt like an entirely alien motion, to return the fragile gesture of affection. To have someone this close to him would usually send Megatron into a defensive position, but this...was different. The grip on his shoulder was denting the metal, but he couldn’t afford to care about it. He was clumsy at kissing, finding it absurdly difficult to just temper himself and return the press of lipplates so gently. 

His engine hummed, his processor idled. The thing was becoming frighteningly real.

 

The longer Megatron stalled, the more the fear in Optimus’ spark solidified. Megatron responded just as Optimus began to pull away, and the movement startled Optimus well enough that his digits pushed in hard enough to leave distinct dents.

Well. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the reality of it was they were both terrible at this. Give them a gun and people to shoot, and they excelled. But even a minor kiss was like trying to navigate while blind, deaf, and without gyros. Optimus didn’t know what the next bit he should’ve been doing was, and his shoulder was beginning to ache from where it’d been awkwardly stretched out and scrunched in at once to let him be this close and yet keep his servo on Megatron’s shoulder. He was growing more aware of the dents he’d accidentally caused. Maybe this was a mistake.

So he pulled his face away and rested it against Megatron’s chin instead.

“I just realized I actually have no idea what to do beyond that point. That was… poorly planned.” And  _ oh _ , how that burned his tanks to say. He put his other servo on Megatron’s hip, and brushed his digits over the damage of the dents.

“Sorry.”

“It isn’t the first time you’ve put dents in me, and I have had far worse.” Megatron spoke against the top of Optimus’ helm, finding the position oddly intimate despite the shared awkwardness of this moment. His plating tingled and his spark throbbed hard inside of its casing. He certainly knew what to do, but in this sectioned off part of the hallway, it was definitely not something they should be doing.

“I daresay this is strange and new for both of us.” Hesitantly, he put his servos on Optimus’ shoulders. He wanted to touch his antennae, but found them too delicate for his unknowing fingers to disturb. Instead, he settled for stroking over a frame he had shot at, punched and broken a million times.  Only this time, he wanted to hold it tenderly.

“If that was you trying to make me feel better, I’d like to inform you that you’ve failed miserably.” It  _ did  _ put a smile on his face, not that Megatron could see. Megatron was nice to hold like this. He was pleasantly warm and solid, and his EM field was almost comfortable. Optimus’ own field reached out, trying to mingle, in an attempt to compensate for his blunder.

“Strange. New. Not unwelcome. I was hoping you’d know what to do beyond that point and I could just follow your lead.”

 

“You didn’t give me much of a chance to guide you.” Megatron tilted his helm a little, if only to press his lipplates to Optimus’ helm. What a strange feeling, this unbidden affection. Or rather, this affection that had been strangled out of existence many, many times by both of them.

“War does not leave much room for personal...relationships.” He certainly had not taken the time for them. A frag here and there was nothing compared to the uncomfortable warmth and weight of whatever was happening here.

“Optimus,” Megatron lowered his voice, really only for his former nemesis to hear as he delicately nudged that handsome face back up. Only to try once more, this time kissing with more insistence. Maybe even the taste of desperation. They were out of time for this, but Megatron did not want to give it up.

 

Optimus complied easily, content to let Megatron do whatever he thought was best. He was out of his depth here and the mistake of before made him disinclined to begin another attempt. He tilted his helm back, leaning to let their chassis touch. He was careful to do it lightly, so there would be no incriminating paint streaks on either of them.

Optimus raked his optics over Megatron, examining each minute contour of his face with dim curiosity. Megatron had strong features, broad and hard, almost intimidating. It softened when he smiled, but only just. Optimus kept his own concealed out of practical concerns -- protection, and to make sure people would take him seriously.

He sighed and leaned up, open. This wasn’t the charged atmosphere of the planet, or the awkward arousal in Megatron’s quarters. It was something soft and quiet, newly budding.

 

Surely their lengthy absence was noticed by now, but Megatron couldn’t bring himself to care. Optimus was offering a respite from the charged tension and Megatron was still coherent enough to make use of the opportunity.

This time he didn’t just press their mouths together, and his optics flared as he dared to be more assertive about his affection. It was something short of an electric pulse that ran through his frame when their broad forms bumped, rather gently, together. Usually, there would be cracked plating, the scorching heat of battle, but now, it was completely different, and Megatron found his focus narrowing down to Optimus and Optimus alone. The world, the Lost Light, Cybertron and even Tarn fell from his processor with frightening ease as he got a taste of the Prime’s mouth.

 

Some of the clumsiness was still there, but Optimus’ concerns were rapidly falling away under Megatron’s intensity. He held Megatron tightly, pulling him just that bit closer as his EM field tried to burrow closer, deeper, into the mech.

Their dentae clacked against each other awkwardly and Optimus sighed once again, as his focus was burst by the reminder of his own inadequacy here. He bit Megatron’s bottom lip instead, and his plating opened a fraction. Grabbing hold of one of Megatron’s servos, he placed it at his waist in a mute encouragement to touch. It was new. It was  _ thrilling.  _ Here he was, touching Megatron in a way that was utterly different than anything they’d done before.

Awkwardness aside, it was good. This was good.

 

They were both close to fumbling, but there was no denying the light charge building up between their fields. The clangs of their frames bumping into each other were incredibly loud to Megatron’s audials, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Optimus invited his further touch and he wouldn’t waste this opportunity. His fingers traced the sharp angles of the Prime’s waist, committing to memory how it felt not to be breaking through the plating. There was heat in those transformation seams, that much was certain.

He grew bolder, flicking his glossa into Optimus’ mouth and his hand pressed lightly to a delicate panel. It was completely indecent, what they were doing here and Megatron may just love it.

 

Had they been  _ anywhere  _ else than this hallway, Optimus might’ve let this situation go where it seemed to be heading. His usual reservations were gone, replaced by a gleeful abandon as their touches sparked and fields buzzed with growing charge. He wanted to… he  _ wanted  _ to…

_ We need to stop. _

Self-control asserted itself in painful increments as Optimus rebelled against what his body wanted to do what his mind deemed necessary. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

“Stop,” he said against Megatron’s mouth. “We have to -- we should stop.”

Reluctantly, he pulled away. It left his frame colder, field lonelier, but it was necessary. Steam wafted out of seams as Optimus scrubbed at his face, trying to pull himself out of the haze they’d both fallen into. They weren’t young fools playing around alone. They had duties. Appearances to maintain.

Optimus pulled himself away,  _ again _ , and this time it ached like regret. “Not yet,” he said, trying to explain. “Just -- we’re rushing again. At a bad time, in a bad place.”

He wished he could just forget himself, this once.

 

A hiss of hot air escaped Megatron’s fans and he could not keep his disappointment from his face entirely. Of course he understood. When he wasn’t acting like a turbofox in heat, he had a processor that understood that their near-interface behaviour was absolutely unacceptable. Nevermind that they had waited four million years and could stand to slow this thing down.

It only took a moment for him to school himself into nonchalance and resignation, optics dimming to their submissive, faded carmine. It threatened the crew less, he found, when he didn’t walk around with blazing optics.

“Of course. This...is probably the worst hallway we could have chosen.” he conceded, leaning towards the panel that would unlock the temporary door and open them up to ‘public’ scrutiny.

::I enjoyed that.::

 

_ ::Me too.::  _ Optimus shot him one more smile before his mask was back in place. He cycled air again, one more time, before beginning to rebuild his composure. His plating returned to their default state -- tightly shut for protection -- and his EM field dulled to a whisper of presence. His expression was back to the perpetually calm, deliberate stare.

And just like that, it was like the silly old mech who couldn’t quite kiss and was far too much into his former nemesis was gone, replaced by Optimus Prime. He glanced at Megatron.  _ ::Ready to face the music?:: _

 

::My entire life has faced the music. I’m sure we just added fuel to their fire.:: Megatron took it with resigned humor. He’d heard the rumours. Optimus didn’t escape the scathing scorn of his fellow Autobots, especially not after allowing Megatron to walk ‘free’.

When the door to the bridge slid open, there was a distinct silence about the sudden bustle of it. Ah. So they had tried to spy on them after all. Megatron acted as always, dignified and certain as he approached the table again, tapping the projection to study the Lost Light’s current position.

“...The propulsion engines. A targeted EMP would easily give us access to the ship without damaging it permanently.”

Where Megatron wanted to go in with aloof dignity, Optimus followed it with a sweep over the room. Each crewmember that drew his gaze quickly looked down. It wasn’t quite staring them down, but he knew how the rumor mill worked. Give them even an inch of feed, and they’d run with it. Refuse, however, and make them feel bad for thinking it, and you killed the gossip at its roots.

It wasn’t a perfect method, of course. Whispers would go around for sure. But it was better than nothing.

His frame still felt the buzzy little aftermath of their fooling, and it took Optimus a brief pause to gather his thoughts, time he spent looking at the map blankly as if studying it.

“That might work. But it’ll warn them, giving them time to prepare. We need to hit them fast, and hard, and allow them no quarter for getting comms out.”

Megatron’s shoulder was rather distracting. Judging by how people looked at the perfect little fingermarks that likely matched Optimus’, they thought the same.

 

The best way to show fortitude against such blatant judgement was to ignore it altogether. And Megatron was well-versed in that. For all the crew could know, Optimus had a strong word with him and their debate had gotten a little physical. Nothing about him, his field or his tone of voice suggested signs of his burning desire to close the gap between himself and the Prime once more.

“True. But I think you should have the necessary tools for such a strike. We’ll need to weed out the parts of the crew that merely continued to operate under the mutiny. I doubt that everyone aboard that ship was in the loop.”

“Perhaps not. But we should keep them in the brig, until we can verify who is guilty and who is not. We disable the ship, then cut off their communications. Once that’s done, we stun everyone on board. It’s fast, and there’ll be no casualties ideally.”

Those dents were  _ supremely  _ distracting. Optimus’ optics kept wandering up to them far too often, remembering how they felt in his servo, wondering how it would feel under his dentae.  _ No, no. Stop that. Right now. _

If Megatron took note of the Prime’s distraction, he made no sign of it. After they’d agreed on a strategy to recapture the Lost Light, he took his leave from the bridge where he wasn’t desired in the first place. At least, not for his tactical logic and thinking.

Besides, he had urgent business with his private quarters.

::Perhaps you should see me when you are no longer on duty.::


	6. Chapter 6

They caught up to the  _ Lost Light  _ in two days. Sneaking up on it had required some finesse, but the ship’s engines sputtered out with the EMP blast, and shields handled their comms. The ensuing battle had been fast and brutal. Optimus had originally wanted to knock everyone out using a ship-wide bomb, but a few lucky stragglers managed to escape and board the  _ Peaceful Destiny _ .

As it were, the excitement was over. The medibay was packed with mecha to be treated and the brig was steadily filling up. Getaway was… an issue, however.

Ultra Magnus had suggested the way the  _ Lost Light  _ had originally chosen to handle him. Remove his limbs and his ability to speak, and he was effectively neutralized. Optimus didn’t like it. There was something cruel about it, stripping away the mechanism from the machine and turning him into a sentient mass that could do nothing but hang, vulnerable to whatever anyone chose to do.

For that reason, Optimus rushed the court martial process. Getaway hung for only a day before he was reconfigured and brought out before the board composed of Ultra Magnus, Optimus, and Megatron.

His reaction was less than positive.

“What is  _ he  _ doing here?”

“He is here as a member of the board for your court martial,” Ultra Magnus answered dryly. “You’re charged with mutiny, Getaway of the Corcapsia Incursion --”

“Get him out.”

“-- do you deny these charges?”

“I don’t care, I want  _ him  _ gone.”

“That is not a denial.”

“That  _ is  _ a denial of his presence!”

“Enough.” Optimus cut through the angry protests, coolly eyeing Getaway. “You broke the Autobot Code. You not only mutinied against your superior, you abandoned several of your shipmates to be slaughtered by a rebel group of Decepticons. You -- “

“I’m not going to be lectured about betrayal by  _ you _ . You let him go.  _ You  _ betrayed us!” Getaway still had no arms or legs, but whatever could be seen of him beyond his faceplate was in a towering fury. “We  _ had  _ him and you were too  _ weak  _ to execute him for his crimes!”

“We’re not here to argue politics. You mutinied, Getaway. You’re to be dismissed from the Autobots and sentenced to -- “

“Sentenced?  _ Sentenced _ ?! I did the right thing and I’m getting tossed out for it? While he can kill billions and walk free? What is  _ wrong  _ with you? What is wrong with  _ all  _ of you?!”

The court martial went downhill from there. Despite Ultra Magnus’ attempts to have order, Getaway’s outrage couldn’t be stopped until he was finally sedated. He was pulled out after that, while Optimus ran a servo down his face.

“What a mess.”

 

“You didn’t expect him to be repentant for his crimes, did you?” Megatron had kept rather silent during the entire ordeal. Getaway’s accusations weren’t unwarranted and the former warlord felt it impact the Prime’s field, ever so subtly. He was oh so aware of every minescule change in the mech these days...and although retrieving the Lost Light had been a success thus far, Getaway’s ‘feelings’ about the situation were bound to complicate matters.

“You are still too compassionate. He won’t hesitate to repeat his mutiny. This is not about me, though I may be the source of his actions. This is about the crew he betrayed and abandoned to be slaughtered. Keep him incapable of putting any more lives in danger.”

 

“He’s not entirely wrong,” Optimus said softly. “I understand what I have to do. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it any more than imprisoning someone who believed they were doing the right thing, no matter how misguided it was. It’s just… unfortunate.”

Unfortunate didn’t cover it. The rest of the court martial went the same. Optimus stonily faced down accusations, disappointment, and criticism as he judged everyone involved in the process. A few were acquitted for being unconnected to the fiasco, but most were imprisoned. Getaway went back to his isolation chamber, now sans his lower jaw.

Most of Optimus wished he could sulk in his rooms for a bit. Or sag against Megatron and ask him if he was doing the right thing.

Most of Optimus didn’t get what it wanted, and he was back at the mapping table again, trying to coordinate the next step in their plans.

“Do you think you could draw Tarn out on his own again?”

“Unlikely. His division is loyal to him and they will undoubtedly be aboard the Peaceful Tyranny. The best we can hope for is Tarn and the DJD showing up without Deathsaurus,” he ground his denta with frustration at the name, “and Overlord. I’m afraid it would take more than what we have on board to handle all of them. But if it is just Tarn...it’s vital we don’t use audial communication. We can’t just trap him on the Lost Light. I have to take him out.” He steeled himself for it. He knew he’d sworn off violence, but this was his monster, that he created, and he had to put him down. If Tarn had any processor power left, maybe he could be persuaded, at some point, by Megatron’s rhetoric. It had worked before, and maybe it could again.

“You want to take on Tarn, again? Alone?” Optimus looked up at him sharply, scowling under his mask. “Have you forgotten the fact that you’re on fool’s energon and that he dearly wants to murder you? Alongside Overlord and his division, presumably?”

There was risk-taking, and then there was  _ risk-taking _ . Optimus wasn’t exactly a model  for the former but…

“We could pull them onto the  _ Lost Light _ ,” he suggested, “And blow the ship up. Them being them, I expect they’ll survive, if with massive injuries.”

 

“I still need that ship, Optimus. That’s not an option. I can handle Tarn. There’s...ways in which I can prepare for him. He is my responsibility. I have a lot of those, but this one, I really do have to handle on my own. This time, no one else’s life will be at stake but my own.”

Megatron knew he sounded like a broken record, like a martyr who simply wanted to die. And maybe he’d been that, at some point in his life. Actually, after his surrender, he’d been very close to considering himself in such a light. Now though...he had a goal again. And Megatron didn’t let go of those until you melted him down to slag. 

“Trust me. I can handle Tarn and his Division.”

 

“We can get you another ship.”

_ ::Do you think I want your life to be at stake? Is that somehow  _ **_better_ ** _?:: _

Optimus’ mood was souring at Megatron’s insistence, and he squared his shoulders, readying for a fight over this. “You’re taking unnecessary risks. Physical confrontation can be avoided.”

_ ::And I’m telling you to not.:: _

 

::Optimus, your sentiment is charming, truly, but you know it is this or something worse. Do your remember what I told your medic? About Shockwave’s modifications? I can...I am going to make use of them.::

To anyone else, it would look like a silent confrontation between two titans, their conversation entirely via comms now. Much to the discomfort of Ultra Magnus, who concentrated on an empty corner of his datapad.

::Is it because you want to protect me or because you don’t  _ trust _ me that you object?::

 

_ ::That’s hardly filling me with confidence.::  _ His retort was biting, as Optimus’ temper rose to the surface.  _ ::It’s both. I want you to live and I don’t trust you to stop throwing yourself into danger. You think using an experimental blackhole as a weapon is somehow safer than any other alternative!:: _

Optimus stabbed a digit at the mapping table, aggressively sorting through its contents as he searched for something.  _ ::Why do you insist on handling this alone?:: _

 

::Because Tarn could kill all of you to get to me. And he will if he has to.:: Megatron had come to a sort of serene peace with it, so explaining it to Optimus seemed like an unnecessary effort. He’d come to this decision a long time ago.

::And because I owe it to him. I owe it to Tarn to end this without killing him, if I can. Tarn is...the epitome of what I...what I became. What I never should have. He is the example you need, if this surrender, this peace to end the war, really is to hold. You made me write a speech on how the war was over. Now I have to prove it and neuter my former attack dog. I have to do this Optimus. Not you, not Magnus, not Rodimus, no one else. Just me and him.::

 

His jaw flexed as Optimus ground his dentae.  _ ::What happens if Overlord is there? Deathsaurus? Are you so confident you could take all of them on, at once? Even with the antimatter -- it’s risky.:: _

Optimus cast around for ways to make Megatron see reason. A thousand attempts scrolled through his processor, all of the shot down for not being enough. He even briefly thought was trying to guilt Megatron, before discarding it. Once Megatron had his spark set on something, it took…

...well, it took four million years to change his mind.

 

Megatron watched him with impatient indulgence. He was deeply familiar with how stubborn Optimus could be. Just as much as he, to be completely honest. But on this matter, he absolutely could not budge.

“You know it’s the best way.”

::Have faith.::

 

_ ::That is not -- !::  _ Optimus bristled as his own words were quoted back at him. Still, how many times had he said it to people who questioned his own methods? It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Optimus relented.

_ ::I will be very cross if you go and die.::  _ Okay, maybe not entirely. He crossed his arms, pinning Megatron with a glare.  _ ::If I hear the words ‘heroic sacrifice’...:: _

 

::I’ll keep it in my mind.::

Megatron could not help the minute smile from his faceplate though. Optimus was worried. And he prefer if Megatron didn’t die. That was downright soft and gentle of the Prime and it was definitely because of that unmentionable thing. It had continued to linger between them, a heavy tension barely soothed by the few stolen moments that they had taken for themselves.

They both had bigger problems and appearances to tend to, but Primus was it getting uncomfortable to bear dents and knowing glances. Megatron fled into thoughts and plotting, knowing he had another date with Tarn in his near future and it would be his finale. In some way, shape or form. He would show the universe where he stood and maybe, he’d even show those that clung to being Decepticons that their future may not hold certain death.

-x-

The Peaceful Tyranny showed up within hours of the plan being in motion and Megatron’s signal being broadcasted. It was a simple message, reminding Decepticons that surrender would not be held against them and that the war was truly over, despite what mecha like Deathsaurus and Tarn believed. It was just patronising enough to enrage the DJD’s commander into throwing caution to the wind.

Megatron stood on the bridge, back to the door and gaze on the stars, waiting for Tarn to come find him.

 

Contrary to what Megatron believed, Optimus was hardly sitting back and doing nothing. The life signs aboard the  _ Lost Light  _ were being tracked. So far, only Megatron was there but Optimus was anticipating the new arrivals.

“He’s gone and done  _ what _ ?”

Optimus looked up to see Rodimus, who’d thrown the door to the labs open with a sharp  _ clang _ . He looked harried and angry. Upset.

“He’s on the  _ Lost Light _ . Baiting the Decepticons.” Optimus’ reply was short -- he was preoccupied with searching for something,  _ anything _ , that could help him extract Megatron without unnecessary sacrifices. Antimatter was rarely used as a weapon for a  _ reason _ . Not even Wheeljack dared utilize it, it was so volatile. Of course Megatron would think that it made the perfect weapon.

“You let him go?”

“I don’t  _ let _ Megatron do anything. He made his choices. I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t  _ die  _ because of them.”

Rodimus sagged just a bit. “Is he going to… sacrifice himself? Kill himself with the Decepticons?”

“It  _ would  _ be poetic,” Optimus muttered darkly. Something about  _ starting things  _ and  _ ending them.  _ “But no, I am going to pull him out before he goes and does that. No one is dying today, not while I’m still here.”

There was a crash somewhere in the labs, and both Primes looked up. Brainstorm toppled into view, tearing through the lab. “Where is it? Where did he put it?!”

“Put what?”

“My briefcase. Ravage told me he  _ took  _ one!”

“Briefcase?” Optimus looked in askance at Rodimus.

“It’s a briefcase you can travel through time with,” he shrugged.

And just like that, a light went off. “Rodimus, the briefcase. That’s how we’ll pull Megatron out before he gets himself killed. We need the briefcase!”

Was he going to question the logic of a time-travelling briefcase? No. Weirder things have happened than accessories that defied space-time continuity. Rodimus nodded and they both joined Brainstorm in searching for the briefcase.

_ Don’t you dare die on me. _


	7. Chapter 7

The ship’s sensors had picked up the Peaceful Tyranny in dangerously close proximity, but Megatron continued to watch the stars. He was at peace with himself, even if it was just for this moment. Tarn would come. Of that, he had no doubt. His best enforcer was a hunter, and whatever he set his sights on would succumb. This time, there would be no negotiation, there was no crew to save, nothing to lose but his life and that was a small danger to be facing. At least in his opinion. Megatron heard the doors opening, the step of heavy pedes, then tank treads, then pedes again. Tarn and his addiction to transformation...

The bridge’s doors slid open and he could feel Tarn’s predatory field snap at his own.

“There’ll be no need for violence, Tarn. I am here to accept your unconditional surrender.”

 

Tarn entered the bridge first, followed by his unit  and Overlord. His gun-arm was raised, primed to shoot, and unerringly lined in on Megatron the minute Tarn caught sight of him. There was a brief, tense silence.

“ _ My  _ surrender?” Tarn’s smooth voice was marred by a mixture of fury, contempt, and disbelief. The fusion gun glowed menacingly, coiling energy. “I don’t think you seem to understand the  _ situation _ here.”

Tarn advanced slowly. His EM field was a furious miasma of violent, clashing emotions, each one flicking by too fast to be picked out. The dominant one was anger, however, anger tinged with  _ betrayal _ . “We’re here to  _ execute  _ you. You’re a traitor to the Cause. A traitor to the Decepticons.  _ This is  _ **_justice_ ** .”

He dearly wanted to lose himself to the anger and hit Megatron. Beat him, like he had on the planet with the flowers. It would assuage some of the fury trapped in his frame, allow him to convey what words couldn’t.

It was tempting.  _ So  _ tempting. Tarn’s fist clenched then relaxed spasmodically. His unit seemed content to let him be their spokesperson, but Overlord stepped forward, drawing even with Tarn. He was smirking, seemingly lax in his victory, but sharper eyes caught the tightly wounded anticipation thrumming through him. He wanted the same thing Tarn wanted, but for all the wrong reasons. To him, this was all just another  _ amusement _ .

He would have to be dealt with, sometime. Tarn and he’d struck up a truce built on the shaky foundations of shared loathing, and with Megatron’s death, that truce would be ashes. Overlord was too volatile, too independent to be allowed free reign.

But that was a matter for another day. Tarn’s optics scanned Megatron’s face, trying to find his leader on the traitor. Something, anything, that said the mech Tarn had sworn his life to still existed.

_ Nothing. _

“No one escapes the DJD,” Tarn said lowly, “Not even you. It’s time you die. Whether you do with  _ dignity _ is up to you.”

He prepared to shoot, as did Overlord.

 

Megatron scanned both of them slowly. They were both progenies of his madness, his tainted anger that drove him to turn mecha into weapons. Both of them were consumed by various desires to kill him, whether it be ancient grudge and retribution or a twisted sense of duty and justice. Terrible. Sad. Two sparks committed to his madness among millions. Megatron raised his hands, flicking his palms open and the field, courtesy of a dead mech, began to fill out the bridge, pushing the DJD and Overlord away from Megatron with gentle and yet unyielding power.

Megatron closed his optics, concentrating on the whirling power that waited beneath his chestplate. It had gnawed at him for a long time now, and he’d thought to surrender to it throughout a couple of low points. Now though, it was his command, his will.

“Dignity is something we’ve all forsaken long ago, Tarn.” His optics felt oddly hollow, he could feel the anti-matter claw its way out. It didn’t feel like anything Megatron had ever experienced.

“But come. Come get what will give you peace, Tarn.”

 

“What -- “ They were thrown back by the force of their shots rebounding on the forcefield. Overlord skidded back with an ungainly attempt to regain his balance, while Tarn was knocked off his pedes entirely. He recovered quickly, snarling.

The forcefield lit up the bridge in a soft orange -- reminiscent of a previous age, of a previous lifetime -- and Tarn slammed his fists against it despite the futility of the action. 

“Megatron!” he roared. “ **Megatron** ! You  **coward** ! Face me!  _ Face me _ !”

Each blow did nothing. No matter how Tarn raged, he didn’t penetrate even an inch beyond the barrier. Behind him, Overlord observed the situation coolly. Despite his brutish, aggressive demeanor, he was a tactician inside. And here…

Well, here, the odds weren’t looking too good.

Overlord settled back. He would let Tarn take point here. After all, there was only so much Megatron could do. Let Tarn rage and scream.

Overlord would  _ wait _ .

 

Megatron felt a sense of serenity watch over him. He could barely hear Tarn, but he could clearly see Overlord, who didn’t throw himself against the shield as Tarn and his unit were doing. Hm. There was that devious, clever mind that the triplechanger was not known for. Well, this was the mech whom Megatron used to send to obliterate entire civilisations.

But Tarn was his first concern, and slowly, he was coming through the barrier. Just as Megatron had expected. Almost time. He felt the energy, violent and raging, seeping out of his frame, darkening the orange glow of the shield. 

“I am facing you. For the last time, Tarn. This is where you end.” 

The power funnelled around his hands, it lashed out for him, finally under Megatron’s command. For a moment at least, it would restrain the DJD, or rather, what was left of it. It seethed to crush, consume and destroy.

“You are right, I am a coward. For not having seen what I lost long ago. Control over Decepticons allowed for your conception, and you were a grand mistake. I’ve made many.”

He let it channel further and could feel it coming. That onset of power, curling in on itself. It would destroy everything within the barrier. The Lost Light would be safe. 

“Consider it justice done, Tarn.”

 

The first warning was Vos’ pained shriek. Tarn immediately looked at him, at the black substance that oozed into his frame. More of it poured out of Megatron’s optics, intent on corrupting the rest of his unit. For once, he found himself ignoring Megatron.

_ What is this? What is he doing? _

Cracks in their plating appeared. They spread at an alarming rate, affecting their smallest member the most.

A little part of Tarn was reluctantly impressed at Megatron’s trickery. Most of him was panicking, however. He was…

He was  _ dying _ .

“You -- “ he gasped, trying to point his arm at Megatron, his voice failing him, “I  _ believed  _ in you…  _ w-why _ …?”

The antimatter  _ hurt _ . It clawed into his internals, through his optics and mouth, through his seams and cracks, digging in deeper and pushing needles into every nerve. His optics shattered. His vocalizer failed. He even forgot Megatron, knowing only pain.

And from the outside, Overlord watched.

He watched Tarn fall. Fail. Slowly, languidly, he ambled nearer to the orange barrier and pressed his palm to its surface. It felt solid, though he imagined it’d give way if he pushed.

He looked at Tarn again. All his masks falling away. All his hopes and wants and foolish little beliefs shattering as even his facade of dignified control tumbled away with the echoes of his pained howls.

Overlord caught Megatron’s optic. He smiled, cat-like, and mouthed  _ Not today _ .

With that, he left the bridge, then the Lost Light. Overlord had thought Megatron had been growing weak. Lax.

He was wrong. Megatron had just sharpened a different set of teeth and Overlord wasn’t stupid enough to fight an enemy he didn’t know well. So he’d wait. For their species, the years blended into the next. What was another decade, another century?

He had all the time he wanted.

 

-x-

 

The smoke of time travel tasted a bit like crystallized energon.

That was the first thought that popped into Optimus’ processor, though the second was  _ Megatron, why do you always do the exact opposite of everything I say, I thought this stopped with the war. _

Of course, he wasn’t going to say it so  _ plainly _ . His expression was still tinged with some exasperation as he steadied the former warlord, Rodimus on his other side and holding the bent briefcase. The contained explosion rocked the entire ship and Rodimus scowled.

“That’ll leave a mark.”

“Are they dead?” Optimus peered through the forcefield, trying to see beyond the smoke. “I don’t hear anyone.”

The forcefield flickered out. The two Primes glanced at each other, before reaching an unspoken agreement. Rodimus got his guns ready, while Optimus hefted Megatron up a little higher.

“I’m gonna go check. Stay put with him until the medics get here.”

“Careful,” Optimus advised, pulling Megatron back a little more.

 

Megatron, the source of all this destruction, was barely clinging to consciousness. He didn’t plan on dying, but when Tarn had come to the bridge, he’d known that the only way to snap the mech out of his deranged state was to either kill him or bring him to the brink of death. Maybe Tarn could be rebuilt, physically, mentally. It was a long shot, but Megatron had taken the chance. Sort of. He couldn’t actually contain the antimatter that much or control the explosion.

He sputtered, trying to speak, but nothing came from his vocalizer. All of his systems were registering critical damage, half of them already in emergency shutdown. 

Didn’t matter. It was over. He’d make it. 

Optimus had a good field, even if it was furious.


End file.
